Kate's Clean Slate
by DimpleCurlAeternaGirl
Summary: Kate Austen's personal narrative about her journey from Australia to post Oceanic 815 crash. Kate has an opportunity to be a leader, help other survivors, earn trust and make friends on the island. When her mugshot is found with no other information, an assumption is made. Will her chance end before it's really started? Multi-chapter based on S1Ep1-3
1. Chapter 1: Ray Mullen

Disclaimer: Lost is owned by ABC Television and was created by Jeffrey Lieber, J. J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof, produced by Bad Robot Productions. I don't own it but I love it.

 **"I do know this. It's the things we run from that hurt us the most." - Norma Johnston**

I was exhausted. I had been trekking for miles in the outback, past scraggly bushes, wire fences, jackrabbits, kangaroos, plants and random shrubbery. I was following yet avoiding being near main roads but not so far away that I was close to homes or farms. I wore a ball cap and kerchief over my face when the winds kicked up. The red dust here was worse than sand with its fine grit. Melbourne was over 60 miles behind me and I had run out of money, food, and yesterday I drank the last of my water.

I needed to find food, water and sleep but all I cared about at that point was sleep. I followed a long, winding driveway off of the main road. I knew there must be a house, probably a farm near the end of it because of the remote location and the tell-tale rusty mailbox attached to a post by the road.

The skies were clear and moon was almost full. I saw the cluster of buildings, lit by the moon, including a one-story farmhouse with large front and side porches. It was an older house. I approached quietly, giving the house a wide berth, and quietly went around to the outbuildings. No dogs barked. No sounds could be heard beside my breathing and the night sounds of sleeping or tired animals. One large shed had sheep pens. The out buildings and barn had tin roofs, unlike the house.

I was on my last legs. They ached from hiking today and yesterday with almost no food and little to drink. The sheep were sleeping, huddled in a mass. I heard a few sleepy calls when I made my way past them. They were mostly quiet. I settled in the empty pen next to them, filled with fresh hay. I put down my canvas rucksack to use as a pillow and was asleep as soon as I laid down and curled up, putting my head on my bag, the container of all my worldly possessions.

I could smell the hay in the barn. It was a familiar, comforting smell. I was still half asleep. I was warm and comfortable, despite sleeping in my clothes and coat. The sheep made occasional baa noises and the air smelled like a combination of hay, dirt and grass. The latter was from the sheep. I could tell from the scent they were shaved about a month prior. They smell like lanolin and poop in addition to dirt and grass by the time they were ready to shear. That was before they were dipped.

I knew I needed to get up and out before the owners woke up but kept dozing, like some people do when they hit the snooze button on their alarm. The sun had just risen.

I heard a shotgun being cocked. My eyes flew open, my body rigid. I was laying on my right side and looked up. The barrel was pointed at my neck, held by a tall, aged man in overalls and a straw hat that shaded part of his face. He was heavily wrinkled from the brutal Australian sun and his shaded blue eyes were inscrutable. He looked down at me with an irritated look. I fought the urge to bolt, my heart hammering and adrenaline flooding my limbs. Maybe I could talk my way out of it? I looked non-threatening. I kept the fear out of my face and looked up at him steadily, wondering what his next move would be.

"Good morning." He spoke. He had an Australian accent, like the majority of citizens I crossed paths with. I normally liked the accent, but his tone was anything but friendly. There was nothing good about the morning so far and I prayed it wouldn't get worse.

My mind was fully awake and wary. I responded. "Good morning." I scrambled to my feet, itching to run but held my ground to avoid a big hole being blown through my back. There was no law out here, nobody to find the body if a land owner decided to kill a trespasser.

The farmer's gaze never left my face, his tone never changed. "You were sleeping in my sheep pen." His statement demanded a response.

I was busted and I knew it. "Sorry." I spoke softly. I really was. I hope it came across my face, that he saw the regret. I did it out of necessity. It was mostly to avoid the random creatures I came across. Lizards, spiders, snakes, poisonous and non-poisonous, dingo packs and other random creatures that could kill or injure me when asleep in the open.

The worst creature of all was man. It could be the marshal pursuing me as he had for the past few years. It could be a man wanting some female company, a man wanting to turn me in for a reward or both. People, especially men, were the most dangerous predators of all to me.

The farmer raised an eyebrow. His skin was tan. Now that I was standing, I saw he wasn't as old as he appeared. The wrinkles were deeply etched, but it was sun damage. He stood at least a head taller than me. He must have been assessing me too.

His expression relaxed and he lowered his gun. I mentally sighed in relief. I was hoping he was the kind that didn't like to shoot unarmed young women or worse. It's not that I couldn't get away. I was starving. I needed to refuel and rehydrate if I was going to fight or take off.

"How'd you get here?" He asked, curiosity in his voice. It was a good question. He was way off the beaten path.

I picked up my backpack and felt slightly nervous, as the last of the adrenaline left my system. "I walked." I slung my bag over my shoulder, pushing my ponytail, tied low, out of the way.

"You walked?" He sounded a little incredulous and looked at me skeptically when he asked.

"Yeah." I said confidently. I felt slightly out of breath already from fatigue. I was already out of steam.

"From where?" I decided to tell him the truth, at least most of it. I had to be quick on my feet with answers and literally if needed, weak or not.

I looked at him, meeting his eyes. They were sky blue, obscured some by the hat. His forehead wrinkled more as he tried to figure me out. Good luck with that, I thought. Nobody has managed or wanted to do that for ages. People just made assumptions without talking to or getting to know me. Nobody knew the real me now that I cut ties with Dad with running from the law. "Town."

"Nearest town's 15 kilometers." He pointed out the barn door. I knew. I walked all 9 or so miles, stopping there using the last of my money for sustenance. It wasn't too bad out here until my rations ran out.

I tried to breathe slowly to calm my heart down. It was still beating fast for some reason. Adrenaline? Hunger? "Maybe that's why I was so exhausted." I paced back and forth one step in each direction to get my body moving and stretch. Then I brushed off a little straw from my leather jacket. It was a familiar action, having grown up around farms, and it calmed me down a bit. I rolled a piece between my thumb and first finger unconsciously.

Ray's demeanor was starting to change. He dropped the gruff exterior and seemed to have made some kind of judgement about me. What that was, I didn't know yet except he wasn't angry anymore. I was small but not a threat. I was tired and my stomach was growling in protest. "What's your name?" His voice wasn't exactly friendly, but more placid now.

I met his eyes again. "Annie." I answered quickly. It was the next one in line. I used my aliases in alphabetical order. I was back to the top of my list. They were names of female Saints I had learned in Sunday School, the ones that meant something to me. St. Anne was the patron saint of farmers, equestrians, children, and poverty.

He didn't smile still, but I saw a bit of kindness surface in his face and in his eyes. He looked at me, assessing my size. I was thin and petite. "You hungry, Annie?" I looked at him carefully. He seemed sincere. Truth be told I was starving and was tempted to eat hay if I found no food to take with me on the road. The last thing I wanted to do was pass out in the middle of nowhere. It meant my death. I would end up being found or not, just a pile of bleached bones with a rucksack filled with clothing, an empty wallet, a few pictures, a vintage toy DC-3 plane and false i.d.s.

He led the way, gun loosely held and pointed to the ground. He had a slight limp. He took me back to the farmhouse. It was one-story, older with a wood shingle roof, but seemed to be in good repair. I felt a little leery from habit, but nothing was setting off alarm bells in my head.

It was a lonely life, one I despised, but I tried not to get up close and personal with people or attached on the run. It's just one meal, I told myself. It was as if I had had no ability to stop, even if I wanted to. My stomach was in charge, taking over my brain, so I willingly stepped through the screened back door.

Ray made me eggs, bacon, biscuits and coffee. I don't touch the bacon but I won't pass up well-done eggs. It's hard being a vegetarian on the run and avoid all animal protein. Tofu didn't grow on trees. I try not to think of eggs an animal by-product. I just focus on the taste which is incredible with a little salt. Ray ate already when he woke so it was all for me.

I had already polished off the first panful of scrambled eggs with a fork and knife. I had no shame in the amount I ate. I couldn't help it. I knew I was eating too fast but my stomach was a bottomless pit that morning. I had a high metabolism because my body is lean and muscular with little body fat, a regular calorie furnace. It's been that way since I was a teenager. It didn't help that I was unable to sit still for long and needed to run, climb and do things unless I was deep in thought. I was a straight A student but liked the freedom and movement. I took off after homework was done, even as a child.

Ray came back over with the coffee pot and began to pour more into my almost empty cup. He had been a good host, despite the fact I was trespassing, slept in his barn, and eating all the eggs he had gathered, maybe a week's worth. I heard the chickens but didn't lay eyes on the coop yet. I put down my fork long enough to push my cup over for him to pour.

"So, you want to tell me why you're trespassing on my property?"

I looked up at him and swallowed the mouthful of eggs. "I ran out of money." It was the truth. I was flat broke in a foreign country and wasn't a good feeling. That meant I had to work. That meant a higher risk of being spotted if U.S. Marshal Edward Mars figured out which country I fled to.

Marshal Mars was relentless and I had a feeling he was way beyond his budget and time limit to catch me. It was a long, weird tale starting with what I did or was accused of doing. Important details were missing from the newspaper articles I had read, things that were critical when telling the story. I had a feeling Edward would use his own money if he had to just for the satisfaction of bringing me in. It wasn't just a marshal chasing a fugitive. He was a one-man show now with no team. I could also tell because of his tactics to bait me, things that led to more charges unfortunately, and his words, what he said and how he said it.

The marshal was a braggart, smug and very frustrated. It was odd because sometimes he would be conversational too. I had a habit of calling him on Feast Days for my favorite saints to plead for him to stop chasing me. I wanted him to believe me and told him about extenuating circumstances of what happened. I needed someone to hear and believe me. He would humor me, maybe to drag out the call, but I knew exactly when to hang up at the phone booths to avoid being traced. I was careful and always set a timer. I knew when it was time to go.

I know exactly when hunting me down became personal for him. It was in the beginning, the first time we met after my Mom went to the police about me. What I did wasn't right, I'll admit it, but she didn't waste any time going to the authorities. It was always about that wife-beater, the one who leered at me, made sexual innuendoes, whipped me with a belt, beat her harshly with no reason or provocation, even breaking one of her bones while I watched. It was always that bastard.

I wasted 6 years of my life after graduating high school to protect her. Instead of going to college, I was hanging around Ames working low paying jobs. I knew if I left he would have beaten her to death within the year. Marshal Edward Mars must have led the team that tracked me to the bus station. He nabbed me trying to buy a bus ticket to Tallahassee and said my Mom gave me up. After trying to take me in for arraingment with me handcuffed in his front seat, he ended up laying in the mud during a rainy night while I sped off in his car.

It was only a matter of time until he tracked me to this country, then the canvassing would start and fliers would be posted offering a reward for information leading to capture. The clock was ticking.

Ray topped off my coffee. "You're an American?"

I swallowed another bite, trying not to talk with my mouth full. God, I wasn't usually this rude. I had some table manners but couldn't swallow. I spoke with the food tucked in my cheek like a chipmunk. "Canadian. I graduated from college and figured I'd see the world." I opened my eyes wide to show it may not have been the best idea, but here I am. "Australia was top of my list so I hopped a flight to Melbourne, but I don't know anybody here so I figured I'd walk for a while, you know." I shrugged at that. I spoke quickly, convincingly while cutting my eggs and stacking them on my fork. I wasn't nervous. I was just trying to fill up as fast as I could to get out of there.

I had just turned 27. I knew I could pass for a much younger age, especially in Australia where the sun aged people's unprotected skin. A lot of folks thought I was in high school or fresh out of it. My skin was fair and smooth with a sprinkling of light-colored caramel freckles across my nose and on the sides of it, extending a little to my cheeks. Unlike some women, I don't mind them. I don't usually wear much makeup, if any, except plain Chapstick.

I read in a magazine that proximity to the equator and sun exposure was one of many factors with skin aging. I liked that since I had been in Iowa from age 5 to 24. It's not that I liked Iowa, don't get me wrong. It made me more of a chameleon, being able to switch roles and ages easier as I disguised my identity.

You could have never told me at age 12 this was what I would end up doing during my adult years. It make me want to laugh and sob at the same time. What the hell was I doing? I was so lonely sometimes I wanted to die, but was trained to survive. My Dad was a decorated Sergeant Major in the army. I had little to hold onto anymore. I felt like an animal sometimes with the desperate need to escape, a smart one that the men found interesting and pursued, but I wasn't really living. I was miserable deep down, but hid it, like my secrets and tears.

Despite my current situation in life, I didn't like running and hiding. Running and jogging I loved for exercise. This was different. I was forced to move on quickly after a few hours, a day, maybe I'd stay a few days if I found a secure place to bunker down and regroup. I wanted to avoid being railroaded to Story County where Ames, Iowa was. I had to stay away from the small-town good old boys who were my potential jury of "peers." I had no doubt they would either hang me or send me to jail for life, probably just on rumor without even hearing my side about what happened.

This is what I resorted to do. I wasn't innocent and I hated the feeling of being trapped, almost as much as I hated myself. If it came down to that, burying me in a prison for life, I'd rather be dead. I wasn't suicidal, just determined to keep moving, surviving. Just the thought of being trapped in a small cell made me feel insane.

Ray set the coffee back on the burner and turned around with surprise on his face. He was still thinking about my walk from Melbourne to here. I knew more questions were coming. He had taken off his hat and hung it on a peg by the door. He was partially bald and more wrinkles appeared without the hat on. He looked less intimidating since I could see his whole face and full expression. I'm pretty good at reading people. "Melbourne's 100 kilometers from here." His tone registered the surprise in his face with a hint of disbelief. I don't think he thought I was lying. It was more like he thought I was crazy and wondered how the hell I did it.

I looked up at him and smiled genuinely, eggs tucked in one cheek again. I hated to be rude but couldn't stop eating. "I like walking." That was the truth.

Ray looked as if he was digesting my words slowly. "And you just happened to wonder onto my farm?"

I had taken a pile of eggs and put them between a biscuit and bit down, starting to chew. I paused to answer. "I like farms, too." That was true as well. I gave him a pleasant look. I did enjoy farm work. Our house was on land that used to be farmed by Diane's, my Mom's, family. When her parents passed, she sold off the fields to neighboring farmers, leaving only the uncultivated land and the old homestead. Working farms were all around us when I was growing up. My best and only friend's family had a farm.

After I had to move to Ames, Iowa, my Dad went away because my Mom wanted that creep. He became my step-dad after the divorce. I hated him and wanted my Daddy back. Wayne drank, cursed, beat my Mom, and said horrible things to her. He didn't care if I was there to witness. I tried to be out of house as much as possible. Nobody missed me, even when I was little and came home after dark.

Mom worked one to two shifts at the diner a day and the last thing I wanted to was be home with that drunken, abusive scumbag. He was fast to take his anger out on the nearest target, usually my Mom. I would slip off to my bed and keep my bowie knife my Dad gave me nearby. I wouldn't have stabbed Wayne. It just made me feel safe and was special. My Daddy picked it out just for me because that's what I wanted for our outdoor camping trips. It was a promise from him of future adventures together. If nobody else in the world did, at least he loved me, deployed or not. I don't believe he loves me anymore, not after what happened.

I enjoyed helping Tommy with chores. We mucked stalls, filled them with sawdust, fed the horses with feed and hay, cleaned the tack, brushed down the horses, scraped and cleaned their hooves and checked their horseshoes to make sure they weren't loose. We fed the chickens and did anything else that needed to be done. He was done twice as fast with me working beside him. That meant he had more time to play with me after Mr. Brennan excused him.

Ray walked over slowly, thinking. He sat across from me with his coffee. "Do you know how to work one?"

I continued to plough through the pile of eggs in front of me. When he asked the question, I tried to be casual about my answer. I looked up at him from my plate, shrugged slightly and nodded. "Yeah." I saw those wheels turning in his head.

I had an idea what he was going to say next, that he needed help. The question was with what? I had no experience shearing sheep or dealing with Australian Shepherds, like the two veteran canines who were on the porch. They were panting in the shade and waiting for Ray. Thank goodness they weren't prowling around last night. They must have slept inside.

I also didn't know what other livestock he had besides a few cows, probably for milk and breeding, chickens and maybe horses. Plus he had crops. What was he growing out here by his lonesome? Fruits, nuts, vegetables, or was it staples like oats, barley, and corn or tobacco. I saw a large, fenced in vegetable garden on the side of the house when we were walking in. It needed some attention. It looked like his wife grew food for meals. The place looked fairly self-sufficient without Ray having to go to the grocery store often.

He looked at me, thought for several moments, then spoke slowly. "My wife died 8 months ago Wednesday." I looked at him sympathetically, my eye brows raised. I didn't expect to hear that. I slowed down my chewing. Poor guy. His eyes were sad for a moment before he resumed. "She left me with too many chores and a hell of a mortgage. If you help me with the first one, I'll give you a fair wage and a place to stay." He was serious. I could tell was telling the truth, not just by words, but the disarray of the kitchen, unwashed dishes, Australian dust that covered the floors, dirty windows and more. It hadn't been thoroughly cleaned for a while, at least over 8 months. Plus there was the garden, it needed some TLC.

I considered his offer versus the risk of being caught. It was off the main roads, buried in the middle of nowhere. He was old and lived alone. I didn't see any pictures of children or grandchildren, only of him and his wife, his wife, or old photos that must have been of their parents or grandparents.

I had asked to use the restroom to wash up before breakfast and took a quick look in the living room, hallway and whatever else I could see discreetly. It could mean no adult children would be dropping by. I could outrun Ray if needed but didn't perceive any inappropriate intentions on his part. He didn't look at or talk to me that way, unlike a lot of men. Some were downright vile.

I really needed to lay low for a while. It was a risk to stay any length of time, but this was the perfect way to make some cash for my next flight. I had my false passports hidden under a fake bottom in my rucksack and was aiming to go to Bali next.

I pursed my lips, while I was giving it serious consideration. I nodded and stuck my small hand out to him across the table. For the first time in a long time, I extended a little trust to someone, a person I had just met that day. Maybe it was my full stomach influencing me, but I thought this could work, at least temporarily. "Deal."

Ray pulled up his left arm and shook the kitchen table by plopping it on top. He knocked on it. It was a stiff, fake arm made of wood, something I hadn't seen before. It must be old. "No. I'm a lefty." He looked at me and gave a friendly laugh as if it was a shared joke. I grinned and shook his left hand firmly, sincerely appreciating his offer. It was a godsend just when I needed it.


	2. Chapter 2: Betrayed

_A/N: Thank you to M, Tangler, Guest, Vinzgirl and LostArt for reading and taking the time to post reviews. I read them all and appreciate the comments and feedback!_

" **It was a mistake," you said. "But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you." -** **David Levithan**

A few months passed quickly. I liked staying at Ray's farm. I wasn't used to being around anyone day-in, day-out for years and found myself enjoying it. The loneliness had faded. I saw him at meals or when he would come by the house for something. He was out working the farm otherwise. He grew fruits like peaches, pears and pineapples and different nuts. He had other crops too, but focused on yielding higher profit foods to help pay the bills.

That's why he had a "helluva mortgage." He took a 2nd one out on the farm to invest in orchards. It would make him more money but was a slow return on investment until the trees were bigger and the yield higher.

The remote, quiet farm and lack of visitors had lulled me into a sense of security, something that's very dangerous for a fugitive like me.

The house chores were manageable as well as collecting eggs after feeding the chickens. I did extra things without being asked. I enjoy staying busy. I enjoy helping people too so it was a good combination.

I knew how to slice and peel fruit and vegetables to preserve it mason jars. Diane did this, as did other women around Ames. I labeled them neatly and added them to his pantry. It already had an array of preserved food stored by his wife. Some jars held preserves to spread on toast or biscuits, even tomato preserves which are better than they sound.

The food would feed Ray long after harvest and for many months to come. The jars didn't go bad for a long time. I also had things from the garden preserved. I had made sliced pickles from the cucumbers I had harvested so far. They were in jars soaking in brine, dill and garlic, waiting for future consumption.

Ray didn't put the garden on my chore list, but I took it over anyways. It's not just because I knew how to grow tomatoes and other plants from our having a small garden at home. It was an act of appreciation towards Ray. It felt familiar, something I did when I was young and what I would do if I had a house. It made me feel more at peace nurturing and cultivating plants as they grew. If he happened to be by the house when I was in the garden, he would lean over the fence to chat briefly.

Ray would ask how the green beans or tomatoes were coming along. He loaned me his wife's straw hat, long sleeved shirt, gardening gloves and tools for the work. I took them gladly, not wanting to add more freckles from the sunshine. Ray would get a nostalgic smile on his face and just watch me working in the dirt sometimes. He liked sitting in a rocking chair on the porch after a workday, sipping iced tea and would glance over to watch me dig in the dirt. I could see him out of the corner of my eye and the pleasant look on his face. That was his wife's garden. She had been gone almost 11 months by then. One day, he told me she'd be happy to see that I was taking good care of it. I took it as a compliment.

I wanted to keep the garden alive for him to enjoy. Farmers don't make a lot of money for extras. There's nothing like fresh-picked heirloom tomatoes, cleaned and sliced up to go with dinner, even as a side dish. I had heirloom tomatoes growing, regular tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, green beans, snap peas, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, different jalapeno peppers and other things for seasoning like parsley, sage and mint to add flavor and color to the meals. Mint leaves were good when mixed in iced tea, lemonade or water. Most of the plants were already there, hiding under the weeds and decay.

In the cooler hours of the morning and evening, I would spend time weeding, pruning things back and inspecting the plants to make sure there was no blight or bugs pestering them. I also checked the fence. It was holding. I had a little jackrabbit invasion early on and asked Ray to put up more chicken wire. He did it without questioning me. I didn't like being in the house idle so the garden gave me an outlet to use my hands and body. I didn't have to be in my head, thinking as much as I had been for months on end.

* * *

I knew my time was coming to a close. I had decided to leave. I tried not to act unusual but made sure the place was clean before I left. I did a good, thorough cleaning periodically, so it didn't look unusual or draw questions from him. The hardest part, the bane of my existence there, was the endless red dust that made it's way into the house

The night of my departure had arrived. I hated goodbyes and the pain that came with them. I was getting attached to Ray. I didn't want to have a scene, more questions or him to ask me to stay longer. It wasn't safe. Ray held up his end of the deal and had paid me fairly, as promised. I held up mine. There was no agreement on how long our arrangement was going to last.

I left a letter for him by the kitchen table with my parting words of thanks. I had a separate page just for the garden so it wouldn't go to waste. I told him when things would be ready to pick and gave minor tips for preparation like soaking the snap peas in cold water and sugar for a while before boiling them. It was strange writing it. I wouldn't taste the fruits of my labor but at least he would get to enjoy it. That's all that mattered.

* * *

It was midnight. Ray went to bed at sunset and rose before sunrise, same as other farmers did in Iowa. I was dressed with my coat on and had all of my possessions packed in my bag.

I had just finished pushing the canned pear jars back so I could access a wood panel in the pantry. I slid it open and silently pulled out a used coffee can. It was full of money. It was all my wages since the week I started. It's not that I thought he would take it but I don't trust anyone with my future, not Ray, not anyone. I was holding in my hand enough money for a one-way ticket to Bali and what would hopefully sustain me for at least a few months after I arrived there. I thumbed through the bills quickly. They were all there.

Back to running, back to being alone, back to being a Katydid, the bug that looked like a leaf, blending in and hiding from it's predators. That's what my Dad used to call me when I was a girl because I'd climb and hide in trees.

I liked Ray. He was like a taciturn uncle on the exterior but had a kind heart underneath the gruff voice and wrinkled appearance. He seemed to genuinely like and care about me. He was rough around the edges, a farmer and son of a farmer, but a good man. He would thank me periodically for the work I was doing. He had no children and no siblings. It was a lonely life out here. I understood that part.

At meals, we usually talked about the crops, livestock, the garden and and the farm in general. Sometimes Ray talked about his wife. Other times, Ray tried to get to know more about me and my past. I had to lie a lot on the run, but it doesn't mean I like doing it. My Dad didn't like lies and had emphasized for me to always tell the truth. It's another thing my Dad would be ashamed of.

It was too hard to keep lies straight, so I did only when necessary, hiding my identity, to get something I needed, to travel, to get away, to get off of the marshal's radar. The problem with revealing anything to Ray was that he was curious. One answer wouldn't suffice. It would be question after question and would make the lie grow and grow.

I kept quiet when he asked about my past. He didn't push me when I clammed up. It made me feel ashamed and sad. It made me miss Dad, the only parent who loved me, or at least used to love me. I am his great failure. I had a great deal of respect for my father. I still do. I had no words for Ray. I couldn't even invent a past to pacify him. It felt undignified after all he had done for me these past few months.

I don't trust men in general based on experience. It started out with my step-father and how abusive and downright mean he was. I trusted Tommy but he was a friend. He didn't count. When it came to men, I usually got burned if I became involved so I cut bait and left first. I didn't trust them or their motives and I didn't do one-night stands. I didn't want to be hurt or hurt anyone like the "husband" I left behind. That's another thing I feel guilty about.

I don't know what I was thinking marrying a cop under an alias. I was "Monica" then. St. Monica was the patron saint of many things including difficult marriages, disappointing children, and victims of abuse. I should have known better. Even the name I had to use next, Monica, was warning me.

What kind of moron fugitive marries a police officer? Me. Kevin was so kind and genuine though and I thought it could work, we could be happily married and nobody would find me. I fell in love with his mother too. She brought me to tears with how sweet she was and glad to finally have a daughter. She was affectionate and showered me with attention and care. I craved that kind of love so badly. It drew me in. It had an overwhelming, magnetic pull I couldn't escape. A husband that loved and adored me, a mother that loved spending time with me, one with a tender heart that really cared was too much to resist for my starving heart.

I was delusional. A cop! And the marriage wasn't even legal. I ran when he bought us honeymoon tickets. It was a late honeymoon, but I knew it was over. I drugged him with a few sleeping pills and left a letter saying he didn't know about me. I didn't want him to lose his job because of my deception.

I also took the airline tickets and exchanged them for a one-way ticket to Australia at the Oceanic Airlines counter. I felt bad about that. Kevin would have turned me in if he knew I was wanted. I found out after we were married he was starting to work in fugitive recovery. The clock ticked. It was a matter of time, days, hours, minutes until he came across my profile.

I had to escape Australia. I had given Marshal Edward Mars plenty of time to canvas and track me down, too long. I wouldn't be surprised if he was down here looking for me and following any leads.

After I thumbed through the money, the kitchen light came on behind me.

Dammit! I woke him. It was hard to be quiet in a silent place with no air conditioning or ambient noise. You can hear every board creak, the house settle, bedsprings protest when Ray rolled over, even the dogs' tails thumping on the floor as they lay there trying to sleep. It was small, one-story farm house.

Ray was a few yards behind me in the kitchen door entry with his back to the hallway. I closed my eyes, mad at myself for waking him. I was unhappy that I would have to say goodbye yet again, something I hated. It involves me swallowing tears and being resolute on leaving versus a clean cut and run in the night.

Ray walked over to me slowly. "The bank would have given you a heck of a toaster if you had kept that in a savings account."

I put the part of the money in my jacket pocket and part of it in my wallet and stashed it in the rucksack. "What do I need a toaster for?" I never lived anywhere long enough to need one, not for years, but wasn't telling him that.

Ray sounded a little frustrated but not mad. He knew I was headed out. I could tell. "You're hiding your wages in a tin can, Annie. I mean, I would have held on to it for you." I replaced the panel and pear jars, lining them up neatly as he talked.

I leaned back against the pantry door frame and looked at him ruefully. Then, I looked down and sighed, and back at him again. I gave him an honest answer. "I got trust issues." I tiptoed, reached up, and turned off the pantry overhead light by pulling the chain. I closed the door behind me and went to the kitchen table to make sure my bag was closed tight before putting it on my back.

Ray watched me. He wasn't done talking. I paused and looked up at him, waiting. He sounded concerned underneath that deceptively gruff voice of his, a little hurt. "Weren't you going to say goodbye?"

I spoke softly again, putting one bag strap over my right shoulder. I tried not to make eye contact and didn't want to drag this out. "Wrote you a note." I said, hoping to smooth things over a bit.

Ray walked over to me as I put on the other strap so the rucksack was secure on my back. I looked down, then glanced at him. He gave me a sad smile. "You've been here almost 3 months, Annie. And every time I ask you about yourself, you get that look in your eye." I felt pained. I couldn't tell him the truth about me, my past. He wouldn't look at me the same and would turn me in. I couldn't lie either. I didn't like myself already and it would only make things worse for me, for both of us.

Ray has been honest in his business dealings with me. He hadn't given me a reason not to trust him. But when a person was accused of something like I am, but not convicted yet mind you, only accused, it changed how people looked at me. It could obliterate anyone's positive perception of me. Anything good about me or the fact I loved helping people was erased. They only focused on the accusation. They didn't ask what happened or my side of the story. It was black or white. I was good or bad. There was no in between.

The one person I could confide in, my Dad, didn't even ask. I couldn't talk to him about it, my only stable parent. The one chance I got to see him, when I risked going to his office to say goodbye, he didn't say, Katie, what happened? He said other things instead.

Marshal Edward had already been there to see him. Dad had judged and convicted me without a trial or listening to my side and why I did what I did. He thought he already knew why. He assumed. I let him down and was so ashamed. It killed me inside. I ran off after hugging him goodbye but felt cast off in a way. He was better off without me, but I had lost my touchstone.

I stood silently. I know my guard was slipping because the feelings were surfacing before I could shove them down inside. I looked into Ray's his eyes briefly, with sorrow, regret and that persistent pain deep down inside. I didn't want him to judge and hate me too.

"Yeah, that one. So, I mind my own business. I figured maybe you got off on the wrong side of a bad relationship. Maybe you ran. I always knew you'd leave here someday." I looked towards him when he said that. Was it that obvious? "I guess I hoped it wouldn't be in the middle of the night."

I swallowed hard. All he had been was kind and respectful to me, even fed me a pile of food and offer me a job after I trespassed and slept in his sleep pen without permission, then lied to him about my name and why I was there. "I'm sorry." I truly was. I held back tears. I didn't cry. I hadn't for a long time.

Ray nodded. He sounded a little choked up. "Yeah, so am I."

I had to get out now. I decided to leave through front door since he was awake. I made it to the hallway and heard him talking to me again, wanting to persuade. It made me pause.

"Hey, Annie, why don't you just stay one more night, eh? I'll drive you to the train station first thing in the morning. I promise." It was tempting but not my plan. I would need to trust him to take me out in public for the first time and also trust that nobody would spot me if my information was out there.

I looked at him and thought several moments. Then I looked away. Could I trust Ray? He didn't give me any reason not to. I was sleepy and feeling it. It was a long way to the station by foot. I conceded, going against my own instincts. "Okay." I gave him a small, grateful smile. "Goodnight."

Ray spoke again, but instead giving me a typical "good night" in return, he said something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "I get it, you know. Everyone deserves a fresh start." I frowned a bit as I headed back to my little room, wondering why he said that.

* * *

Ray made good on his word. After a hearty breakfast, he was driving me to the train station in his beat-up truck on a two-lane road. It had huge side mirrors, no air conditioning and a wide bench seat.

It was a long drive. Patsy Cline came on the radio. It was "Leavin' on Your Mind," one of Dad's and my many favorites. Dad played Patsy Cline cassette tapes in the car when we went on a trip. The music made me feel relaxed along with the breeze drifting over my left arm. The window was wide open. It was warm, but not unbearably hot yet since it was early. I put my right elbow on my rucksack and sat companionably with Ray.

"Do they listen to Patsy Cline in Canada?" Ray asked, looking over. He smiled at me. Silly question to ask. It amused me.

I returned his smile. He must be a fan too. "They listen to Patsy Cline everywhere."

Ray looked forward and kept smiling. "You hungry?" He looked in the review mirror. There was nobody on the road either way for miles. I noticed his head move but didn't think about it at the moment. It was normal to check the mirrors periodically for faster moving vehicles behind you in case they wanted to pass.

I looked over, grateful for the offer but not interested. I felt too exposed, too late in departing and was anxious to leave. "I'll eat on the train." I was still stuffed from breakfast.

"You sure?" Ray looked at a vehicle in the review mirror that appeared out of nowhere. "There's a little place up here that makes a mean burger."

I caught the second glance in the mirror and noted that he offered a vegetarian a burger, almost mindlessly. My senses started to tingle, then alarm bells went off in my head. "What are you looking for, Ray?" He was definitely watching for something, or someone.

"What?" Ray answered in a false tone. Now he was lying. I had already turned to check the large side-view mirror. Behind us was a large, black, unmarked SUV with tinted windows. It was the kind Federal Marshals drive in the states.

I turned my head around to look out the back window and saw him driving it, Marshal Edward Mars himself and he was right on top of the truck tailgate. I shot Ray a look of disbelief, then let it sink in a moment, the feeling of utter betrayal. I got suckered into staying another night and could have been checking in at the airport, getting ready to head to Bali by now. "How long have you known?"

"Couple of days." He looked over at me and back at the road. "I saw your picture in the post office. I guess they knew you were Down Under." Yeah, no kidding. It was just a matter of time.

I really felt hurt. I trusted him. It was my fault and a dumb thing to do. "Why?" My voice was filled with pain but I wasn't going to cry. I wanted to know why he would sell me out. How much was it worth to him?

"The reward's $23,000." He sounded remorseful. "I told you when I met you, I've got a hell of a mortgage. If it makes you feel any better, it was a hard decision, Annie."

"You asked me to stay." My voice still sounded hurt. I knew I sounded vulnerable and allowed myself to feel it a few moments. I liked Ray and let my guard down. Look what it got me. Then I realized what happened. The look. He found out but never looked at me differently, not like the others.

Ray looked at me sadly before watching the road again. "If it makes you feel any better, it was a hard decision to make."

I doubted it. I didn't hate him for it, just myself at the moment for staying there too long.

I looked away at the marshal's car, trying to weave into the lane next to us. He was trying to pull up to the passenger window where I sat. A hardness fell over my heart. I was angry.

When I spoke, my voice was cold and unyielding. I had my full survival armor on.

It was a matter of being caught or not.

"My name's not Annie." I said with irritation, thinking about my next move was.

I was preoccupied with what Marshal Edward was up to in the SUV. What's he trying to do and why haven't we stopped? I heard a squeal of tires as he sped around us in the wrong lane and came alongside the truck to look at me. His face was cocky and victorious.

I looked at him with a flat, cold look, my gaze hardened. I didn't blink or look away.

Game on, Edward.

He looked like he hadn't slept and still had that smug look on his face. He rolled down his window, made his hand into a gun pointed at me and pretended to pull the trigger. He then hit the gas, tires squealing in protest, to get in front of the truck. I looked at him, my face unchanged. Unless I figured out something fast, I was screwed.

A car was honking furiously ahead of us at the marshal's vehicle. He had to slam his breaks and dodge behind the truck. As I watched him retreat, it gave me a few seconds to formulate a plan. I looked at the marshal behind us, then to Ray who was driving nervously next to me. The car going the other way passed and Edward pulled around to Ray's side.

Edward's SUV was beginning to creep up the side of Ray's old truck. In a flash, I reached over quickly and pulled the emergency brake. Ray protested "Hey, don't…!" I then grabbed the wheel and pulled it as hard as I could towards me, causing the truck to smash into the SUV and break off the side mirror on Ray's side. Shiny pieces of it flew in the air and hit the pavement behind us.

The SUV had more horsepower. It didn't stop. Instead, it shoved the truck off the hillside where it rocketed down, then began to flip several times until it hit a tree, stopped and burst into flames.

I did a quick assessment. I wasn't injured. I shook my head to clear it. Now was my chance! I was in dense foliage, a place I had no problem navigating through on foot. The outdoors has been my playground my whole life. I had money and my bag and could make a run for it to catch a train while the marshal combed the area and got Ray assistance.

I glanced at Ray who was out, but alive. I grabbed my stuff, took off my lap seatbelt, kicked my door open with my boot and began to run. Pure adrenaline ran through my body. I wasn't thinking. It was pure instinct to flee and get away. I had done this cat and mouse game too many times already with Edward. This was too close. Then, I suddenly stopped. Fire. Flames.

I turned and looked, seeing a plume of black smoke rising from the truck in distance. Dammit! Ray was still in there. I turned around and ran back, not thinking of anything else, only pulling him out so he didn't get killed. The truck was on fire.

I made it to his door in no time and threw my backpack and jacket away from the vehicle. When I opened it, a plume of black smoke hit my face. I quickly unbuckled him and grabbed his arms to pull him out.

He was deadweight, maybe 200 pounds to my 120 pound 5'5" frame, but adrenaline had flooded my muscles. I wasn't going to leave Ray behind in the field. It was something Dad taught he, something all soldiers knew, a lesson so ingrained that I never forgot it. Ray helped me. I was going to make damn sure I helped him.

With no regard for my safety, I got his body past the fire and struggled to pull him through the tall grass, away from the burning truck. It was pure determination and adrenaline. I gritted my teeth as I pulled him up the grassy incline towards the road. Somebody could find him easily there and get him help. I tugged hard again and heard a snap. Ray's wood arm came off at the shoulder. I flung it into the grass, grabbed under his armpits and pulled until we reached the side of the two-lane road.

I was short of breath, sweaty and sooty. The smell of smoke clung to my nostrils. I turned my head to the road as a highway truck came roaring by within 2 yards. Its horn blared, startling me, but I didn't move. My heart hammered as I tried to catch my breath.

I heard coughing to my left. Thank God! Ray was breathing. He looked okay aside from some small cuts. I looked at him, relieved, then heard a familiar click in my right ear. I tipped my head back for air before looking at the man pointing the 9mm handgun at my neck. It was the man that had been chasing me for three years relentlessly.

"Hey, Kate." He said. The smug look was gone. I looked at him in defiance while breathing hard, still trying to catch my breath as the adrenaline wore off. I had no words.

This wasn't the first time he caught me.

I always got away.

The game wasn't over yet.


	3. Chapter 3: Fate, Fear, Friends

_A/N: Some scenes have more detail than others due to the storyline. There are a few scenes I plan to do separate one-shots for because of the importance. One just posted called_ _Ties that Bind_ _when Kate and Jack first meet post-crash from Kate's POV._

 _Thanks for the lovely reviews! I am humbled when I read them and when someone takes the time to write one – Guests, vinzgirl, LostArt and Tangler._

 **"He who has overcome his fears will truly be free." - Aristotle**

I was headed back to the states for arraignment. Marshal Edward and I boarded Oceanic 815 from Sydney to Los Angeles. We pre-boarded without anyone seeing us. To my relief, we were led by security into an employee hallway. They took us down the jet way so we bypassed the front desk and other passengers.

I was relieved. Edward couldn't see my face to make one of his snide comments about my look. I feel like his personal entertainment and it's annoying as hell. He's so full of himself with catching me. Part of it is my fault because I stayed too long at Ray's. The other is because I decided to save Ray at all costs. I don't regret saving Ray. I don't blame him for turning me in. It's my fault I didn't move on faster. I got too comfortable.

One thing that struck me is that Ray knew what I was accused of but he didn't treat me any different. It was a first for me. I was puzzled, then realized maybe he didn't care or believe what the "Wanted" sign said at the post office. He doesn't know my background or side.

Maybe he relied on what he saw with his own two eyes versus the notice. He was still kind and thoughtful to me those last few days. I don't blame him for wanting the $23,000. He didn't give me the "look." Even though I am in cuffs now, that small fact is germinating inside of me. An old farmer in Australia looked past Marshal Edward's list of accusations and didn't pre-judge me. It may sound silly but it means something to me.

When we got to the airport and went through security, an experience I'd rather not share because it turned into the "Edward Show," I expected some big announcement about a prisoner being boarded and to be paraded through the boarding area with everyone staring. Edward and his prize catch would be on display for hundreds of people to see. He would have loved that.

I stayed at a women's correctional center in Sydney last night. At least I was able to clean up and shower, getting rid of the sweat, soot and grime. The women I interacted were there were decent, even friendly. I had no issues with the guards, women, or my temporary cell mate. If anything, they were nice, curious about America, and as I have said before, I like listening to Australian accents. It makes me think of the "Crocodile Dundee" movies I watched as a kid.

I was expecting to wear a prison jumpsuit on the plane but was relieved to be handed my own clothes to choose from that came from my rucksack after they were inspected. They were clean and pressed by my own hands before I packed them. I wore my brown, leather jacket, a thin, long-sleeved dress shirt with a collar over a white tank top and my own undergarments. The shirt was too long to tuck in but it was the style. I also wore my camel colored cargo pants and comfortable dress shoes. I have some hair elastics to pull my hair back later. My hair was down now in neat waves for a change instead of being pulled back.

One of the ladies at the women's correctional center did hair and offered to fix mine at no cost for when I traveled. Her "fee" was to sit with her friends and ask about the U.S. and the men there. They seemed to be fascinated with American males, male celebrities, as well as any personal love stories. I had none of the latter to offer except the fake marriage and didn't mention it. I spoke a little about Tommy, but not his death. They thought I was younger, maybe college age and said I was just a baby. There's plenty of time for that.

* * *

We sat just near the wing of the plane on the right side if you look at it from the rear. I was given a middle seat, 27H. Edward was on the aisle seat 27G. The window seat was empty. I had no doubt would remain that way. The marshal personally secured my cuffs with the chain in the middle to a steel cable with a rubber coating that he brought from security. Both ends of the steel cable were secured to a metal bar under my seat creating a loop to pass my cuffs through. Unfortunately, it was short and didn't all me to raise my hands hardly once he put my left cuff through the loop and put it securely back on my small, left wrist.

I didn't resist or look. The marshal didn't try to secure my loose left hand either. I just let it sit there limply while he did his job and stared out the window like I was a mannequin. There was no point. I have to choose my battles and part of it is wits. I wasn't going to escape on an airplane in a major airport crawling with security personnel and police. There would be other opportunities I hoped when we landed to get away, get these damn cuffs off and make a break for it. I may have to be inventive.

Marshal Edward was full of himself. The look on his face bordered on contentment, something I had never seen before. I thought he looked like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. He must be relishing the fact that after years of chasing me, talking to me on the phone, baiting me with Tommy's plane, badgering and making fun of me and spend God knows how much of the tax payer's dollars and probably some of his life's savings, he caught me, at least for now. He landed the big game he had been hunting, the small-town girl from Iowa with pending charges in a case that shouldn't have been handled outside of Story County.

The only problem is, I ran. When you cross state lines, then Federal Marshals become involved to with criminal apprehension, but only in certain cases. They are usually larger ones with proof. It still seemed like overkill with the initial resources he deployed. I had no prior history and was no serial killer or terrorist. I would bet my eyeteeth he was trying to make a name for himself to get promoted out of the Des Moines field office. Instead, I imagine he was probably the laughingstock and called Captain Ahab or some other funny moniker. I noticed he had no team to support him within a short amount of time. That spoke volumes. It was just him versus me.

The flight took off on time. I didn't want to talk. I just looked out the window at the blue sky and clouds, my thoughts keeping me company. He made random comments but I wasn't interested. I thought about Ray and wondered how he was but didn't ask. I didn't want another caustic comment or any insinuations from that mouth of his.

The flight attendant came by for drink service. Despite the fact she knew I was a prisoner, as some of the other crew, at least for our section may have known, she was really kind and polite. I was ruminating about Ray and unhappy that I didn't trust my instincts and take off in the middle of the night. Ray would be working his farm and I would be flying the friendly skies to Bali.

"Can I get you a refill?" The flight attendant was back. She gave me a kind look. She had black hair and eyes and a pleasant face. My cuffs were tucked under the drop-down tray in case anybody walked by.

"No, I'm . . . I'm fine with this, thank you." I responded politely, taking a break from my thoughts. I watched as she turned to Marshal Ed. Her voice and expression changed slightly to that of disdain. She was still polite, but her attitude was cooler.

"You, sir? Can I get you anything? Cocktail? Soda?" I watched Ed, waiting for his response, wishing I was anywhere else but with him.

"Just coffee, sweetheart. Black." He was lower key than usual but had a dismissive tone in his voice. The man must be oblivious or just not care how he's perceived.

The flight attended look disgusted. "Coffee. Sure." She definitely didn't like him. I expected an eye roll. I couldn't say I blamed her. He tended to rub people the wrong way, not just me.

He turned to look at me and spoke in a low voice, acting encouraging with that undertone of sarcasm. "You look worried. I'd be worried too if I was you. But you've got to stay positive, kiddo. You know, there's always that off chance that they'll believe your story." I didn't look at him but could see out of the corner of my eyes. He had one of those fake little grins on his face. "I know I sure do."

I was tried not to look at him but couldn't help it. I turned my head to face him, my face was full of deep resentment. "I don't care what you believe."

"Oh, I know that's true. That has always been true." He turned and nodded as he replied. "You sure you don't want some more juice?" His voice was patronizing, like I was a child being asked before the cup was going to be taken away.

I looked back at him briefly, disgusted. "Yeah, I'm sure." I picked it up with both hands and leaned all the way over to try and get it to my mouth and tip the cup. I know he enjoyed watching my struggle to drink it while restrained.

This was going to be the longest plane ride of my life.

I put the cup down and leaned back. Within seconds, the cabin started violently shaking from turbulence. We both looked around.

A voice came over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has switched on the 'fasten seatbelt' sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

The turbulence was slowing. Edward was actually smiling, like it was some kind of theme park ride. I thought I may as well ask him something I was thinking about while he was still a semi-pleasant mood, as much as I loathed asking him for anything. "I have one favor to ask."

His head turned sharply, eyes lit up with interest. An amused look was on his face. "Really? This ought to be good." I rolled my eyes. "What . . ."

The turbulence hit again. This time it was so violent that the plane dropped down, losing altitude quickly. It caused a woman to hit the ceiling, then the floor behind us. A big, black case with silver metal around the edges came flying out of the overhead compartment across from us. The corner hit Marshal Edward in the head, knocking him out. It was a perfect hit, almost as if it was thrown at him. Blood was streaming down his head. People around us were screaming in terror and the airplane was making horrible noises.

The emergency air masks all dropped. I couldn't reach them because of the cuffs. I struggled and fought against the cuffs in desperation, trying not to panic. I would pass out from no oxygen without it. The air was too thin up here.

Then I remembered the keys. The right pocket. Edward always put them there. I watched in case I ever had a chance to lift them. I rifled through his pocket and unlocked both handcuffs as everything shook violently, people screamed and things continued to fly out of overhead compartments.

I barely managed to put my mask on, then push Edward into a sitting position so I could secure one on his face. That was right before the tail section of the plane broke off. I was terrified and refused to look back as people starting getting sucked out of the back of the plane from all around us. I gripped my arm rests and held on for dear life.

* * *

It was evening on the beach of whatever island we had landed on. The crash occurred earlier that day. Things were calmer under the night sky.

At some point during the crash, I was ejected from the plane into the jungle. I rolled when I hit the ground and landed in a pile of soft, decayed leaves. The cuffs were near me. I tossed them off the path and stood, assessing my body and if I was injured. I found nothing major except some potential bruises and minor scratches. The only thing that bothered me was one of my wrists. It was the one I used to stretch hard when cuffed, attempting to reach the oxygen mask. The damage was minimal. It was sore only had a few red marks that would fade quickly. My leather jacket was missing. It came off at some point so it was in the plane, in the ocean, or maybe dangling from one of the tall trees around me.

How did I get tossed out of the plane? I don't know. I think the middle section hit the ground and rolled. I don't have a memory of what exactly happened between my being in the seat buckled up and finding myself on the jungle floor. It's like a big, invisible hand just plucked me out of there and I ended up laying a clear space surrounded by trees.

I walked slowly out of the jungle towards the sound of the ocean. I was still rubbing my wrist while feeling somewhat disoriented. My eyes were damp from tears that were escaping without permission. I kept pushing them down but it was hard after what just happened and everything I saw. I was shaken up. I heard screams and chaos from somewhere along the beach to my right but couldn't see where it was coming from.

Instead of heading straight there, my feet were leading me in another direction, as if they had a mind of their own. I emerged onto a deserted beach and heard someone call out. His voice startled me. It was a kneeling man, handsome, muscular with no shirt on. He was obviously in pain. He had an unusual tattoo with a prominent number "5" on his left shoulder and below that, a wide, bleeding cut across left side of his back. He asked me if I ever used a needle.

He was trying to figure out if I could sew. He needed me to stitch a bad gash in his side and explained he was a doctor but couldn't reach it. The cut was deep and long, running horizontally from his side to his back. I reluctantly agreed, feeling unsure of my ability.

I felt drawn to him, which was strange for me. I had no idea who he was but was glad that I agreed to do something I never fathomed doing, stitching his flesh back together. We talked, cried, me when the horror of what happened hit hard and he from the pain and story he told me that taught me how he handles fear. He's a doctor and and a surgeon. It was a story about when he was afraid because he messed up big-time during a surgery on a 16-year-old girl. It had a happy ending.

He pulled on clean, plain white t-shirt on after I was finished and took me to the crash site. I was stunned at what I saw. It was only the middle section of the plane plus wreckage, luggage, plane parts, a wing and bodies everywhere.

Survivors were huddled together, alone, or wandering around looking for something or someone. Apparently, the doctor had already taken care of some of them before he ran off to hide and try to stitch himself. I did what I could to assist him while he checked on the more critical injuries. I felt tethered to the him for some reason after sewing him up. I don't usually follow people, much less men around. This was different.

The doctor finally got a chance to look over a man with shrapnel in his abdomen. It turned out it was Marshal Edward Mars, but I didn't identify him. The doctor ripped open his shirt. There was blood everywhere, some fresh, some dry. Edward was still breathing somehow.

The doctor used a flashlight to examine the shrapnel at different angles. He kneeled down to check the wound and listen to the man's breathing.

I stood nearby. I paid close attention, but my hand covered my mouth. The wound was horrific and looked deadly. It made me feel sick. I let my hand drop down to neck so I could talk. "Why aren't you moving that?"

The doctor glanced up briefly, then continued to look at the Edward's abdomen. "Because it could be holding his stomach together. Pulling this out could cause more damage than leaving it in until help comes." He paused, checking the bandages on the Edward's wounded head. "His head wound's bad too." I knew it was. I saw how it happened but couldn't talk.

I had mixed feelings. I couldn't explain it. The man who had been chasing me for so long, taunting, ridiculing and baiting me, was now prone in front of me and unconscious. Despite our interactions over the years and his attempts to keep my case current to justify the pursuit and expense, I didn't wish death on him. I didn't want him to wake up and reveal that I was his prisoner, but the fact I didn't want him to die was something I had to think about. It went beyond a sense of humanity, as much as I resented and was disgusted by him.

In the earlier days when I was on the run, I would call him on Feast Days for Saints. I would call him at the office, on his cell or at home. I told my side of the story. I wanted him to stop chasing me. In a way, I was looking for some kind of absolution in the form of him calling off the chase. It was a form of confession, like someone might do if they go to mass.

In a strange way, I felt tied to Marshal Edward. As weird as it sounded, he was most consistent contact I had over the past 3 years and the only person looking for me. It's not that I cared about him or he cared about me. I resented him deeply for some reasons I didn't want to think about or share, but I didn't hate him. I hated being chased down like an animal.

I think, somewhere past that huge ego of his, he felt the same, but in the opposite way. He didn't hate me, but he hated not catching me. It was the most bizarre kind relationship I have ever had in my now 27 years on this planet. I turned 27 in May.

"Is he going to live?" I asked. It didn't look good but I wasn't a doctor.

The doctor sighed, sitting back on his heels. "I could tell you a lot more if there was a CAT scan around here."

I kept looking at Edward.

I felt the doctor's brown eyes on me. "Do you know him." I glanced at him, then looked at the marshal again.

"He was seated next to me." I looked back at the doctor. He looked sympathetic as if he wished he could fix things for me. He looked sorry for some reason.

* * *

The night was not uneventful. The doctor and I talked over dinner. We shared a piece of wreckage to use as a table. Afterwards, we sat at our own little bonfire. Several of them dotted the beach around the fuselage.

We started sharing details to put together the pieces of what happened when we crashed. He used a banana leaf to make a crude replica of our plane, showing how it dropped several times, the pieces fell off and it crashed. I tried to fill in the blanks because he lost consciousness. He was seated 4 rows in front of me on the opposite side of the plane. The crash was the worst memory I could think of. I couldn't give details. It was too fresh and too much.

He wondered where the cockpit was to get the transceiver. I looked at the fire, thinking, then up at him. I had seen some smoke when I stood up to get my bearings in the jungle. I told him about the smoke I saw in the valley about a mile away. I would take him there in the morning as soon as it was light but I was going with him. I didn't give him a choice. He didn't look like he knew about tracking or things to look for in the wild, good or bad.

He smiled at me, seemingly surprised and laughed. He said he didn't even know my name. I smiled at that, especially after everything we had been through together that day together starting with my sewing him up after the crash, the tears, his telling me that amazing story, checking on patients together and the time this evening we have spent together eating and talking.

Joan was next up on my alias list. Saint, warrior and military leader. I looked into his eyes and found something in them that I liked. He was handsome, skilled and compassionate to the survivors. He was kind, smart, and had amazing smile, one I didn't see until we sat down together to eat and talk. It lit up his features, making him even more handsome. My decision went way beyond his looks. It was for deeper reasons.

"Kate." I smiled genuinely at him. It was the first time I had given out my real name in years. I wanted him to know the real me starting only with my first name. The rest would have to wait. I have too many layers built up over the years.

He returned the smile back, dimples in his cheeks, the same as I had. "Jack." He said. He looked at me, away slightly, and back at me again with the same smile. We sat close together and a few moments went by with a pleasant tension between us, a mutual "like" if anything. We had skipped even the basic courtesy of exchanging names and I had been calling him "doctor" in my head all day, not even thinking about what his name was. That's how messed up we were post-crash.

* * *

The moment we were sharing was dispelled by a horrible noise. It was almost indescribable and echoed throughout the valley and over the beach. It was large and came from some kind of creature. It was a massive, unearthly wail. It then made terrifying screeching and rumbling noises. The ground shook as it stomped along the perimeter of the beach beyond the trees. All of the survivors started to cluster together near a larger bonfire to watch. I stood up and ran to join them with Jack on my heels. We were closer now to observe it.

Jack was right next to me, his arm slightly behind and touching my shoulder. He towered over me. From his proximity to my body, I instinctually knew he would grab my arm to run like hell if it came our way. We all watched together as towering palm trees swayed, then were smashed down as this thing, the enormous monster, created its own path adjacent to the beach and roared into the night. It moved on eventually, the noises fading in the distance.

What the hell was that thing and where are we?

* * *

The next day, Jack and I went and found the transceiver. Charlie came along but I wasn't sure why. He sang his own song to get attention along the way. I indulged him for a few minutes but we were on a mission and Jack said we needed to keep moving. I was grateful for Jack's intervention. I think Charlie might use that as a pickup line when the song was popular years ago, but those days may have passed for him. He seemed nice but a little troubled.

We found the front end, right where I had spotted the smoke yesterday. It was good I did because the smoke was gone by the morning. There was only mist. We found one pilot alive. He was badly injured but woke up when I leaned over him to look for the radio. It had been 16 hours since the crash. Everyone else left in the front section was dead.

The pilot said our plane was headed back to Fiji and 1,000 miles off course when the instrumentation and equipment went out. He said they were looking for us, but in the wrong place. The pilot told us where the transceiver was. I grabbed it. It was behind his seat. He tried it, but it didn't work. He then looked out of the broken window when the monster returned, circling the cockpit, making the ground around us shake and those horrible sounds. Jack pulled me into his arms at one point and held me from behind on the floor of the cockpit. We were up at an angle with the nose of the plane resting on something. The monster snatched the pilot when he stuck his head out a broken window to take a look. It was horrific. It took a few massive tugs to extract him and left a large blood spatter on the window. It also made the front end fall flat to the ground.

We all made a run for it in the pouring rain that started when we got there. Charlie slipped and fell, tangled up. Jack ran back to help him. I was several yards ahead and didn't know yet that they weren't behind me anymore. The monster was out there with us. I slipped in the mud, scrambled and turned to my left to hide inside of a banyan tree. I was soaked, terrified and alone. I started screaming Jack's name. I had no idea if the monster got him. I just wanted Jack there with me.

I then remembered what he said in the story, what he did to stop overwhelming fear and that "we had to deal with it or it would make us insane." He said he let the fear take over for the count of five, that's all it could have, then he would take care of what he needed to. I did it. It worked. By the time I reached five, I felt determined to turn around and face my fear. I was going to find Jack, monster or no monster. The rain suddenly stopped.

Something dark crossed my path. I tackled Charlie hard, not knowing it was him initially, and he landed on his back in the mud. He had no idea where Jack was, only that he was saved by him. He last saw him back where the monster was. I looked up. I was going after him. I ignored Charlie's comments about the monster.

I looked for Jack's trail, broken branches, boot prints, any sign of him on the ground and around me. I wasn't trying to be rude but I continued to ignore Charlie's talking. It's not that I didn't like him. I needed quiet to listen in case Jack was hurt or calling out. If Charlie talked much longer, I planned to tell him to be quiet. Maybe I would throw in that talking might attract the monster. That would buy me a much longer period of silence if he had any sense of self-preservation.

I walked up to a clearing and saw a glimmer in a large puddle. It was metal. I picked it up. It was the pilot's wings from his uniform. I was crouching and looked at the reflection in the water, then found the pilot's body. I stood and looked up. It was broken and skinned, about three stories above us in the branches of the tree.

Jack emerged from the trees, out of breath and muddy. I was so glad to see him. He looked uninjured, just dirty. He must have fallen in the mud too. I walked over to meet him as he walked towards me. We stood close together. He looked relieved to see me too.

It was good to see he was whole and well. I had a compulsion to hug him but restrained myself. When was the last time I had done that to anyone? Kevin? I didn't even hug Ray.

I smiled as we made eye contact and bit the side of my lip. I just met the man so why was I willing to let my guard down for him instead of keeping him at arm's length? We didn't say much with Charlie standing there. We left the body and returned to camp with the transceiver. We didn't know we were walking into chaos.

* * *

There was a Southern, chain-smoking man named Sawyer among the survivors. He was fighting a Middle-Eastern man named Sayid. Sawyer had been smoking and brooding the day before, eating, reading some letter and helping nobody. I saw him versus Sayid who tried to help clear and organize areas, located the plane emergency axe, chopped wood and built the bonfires on pieces of metal. I admired Sayid's work ethic and thinking about the group, despite the trauma of the day.

Sawyer was yelling racial epithets saying Sayid was a terrorist and crashed the plane. Sayid was angry, defending himself and there were at least two men trying to hold each man back. Sawyer kept trying to lunge and take swings. The survivors were around them, with mixed reactions of fear and shock as they watched the spectacle. Haven't we had enough with the crash, monster and dead bodies still around us without fighting each other?

The two men stopped long enough for Jack to ask what happened. The marshal's handcuffs were found by the little boy, Walter, traveling with his father, Michael. I had met them the day before too. The men accused each other of being the prisoner. Someone said Sawyer started it.

I stood to the side quiet at first, not sure what to say yet. I was angry at myself for not burying those damn things and frustrated that Sawyer was being such an ass to Sayid. Everything Sayid did and said was to defend himself. He didn't slander Sawyer. Sawyer went below the belt and worse.

It began to escalate again into blows with Jack in the middle of the men and the others trying to hold back the other two. I had had enough of the hateful behavior.

"Stop!" I yelled gruffly. The men stopped swinging and backed off. Sawyer breathed heavy with Jack blocking him as he paced. Sayid turned his back put up his hands and stepped away. All of the survivors grew quiet, listening to what I would say next.

I said we had just returned from looking for the front end. We found the transceiver and it doesn't work. I asked who could help fix it, holding it up. They all looked at each other. After a pause, Sayid nodded and said yes, he might be able to. I looked at him. I saw how hard he worked and had put others first. I felt I could trust him to look at it. It was a potential lifeline to help searchers find us. I handed it over to him willingly.

Sawyer continue to run his mouth, calling the kind-hearted, heavier man "Lardo" after he defended Sayid when Sawyer called him "Al Jazeera." He was angry I trusted Sayid and handed him the receiver for some reason. What was his problem?

Jack got Sawyer's face and told him to give it a break. Sawyer finally backed down after calling him "Doc" as if that would hurt. I was wondering if Sawyer wanted to be hated by everyone. What did he care about the handcuffs and why was he being so mean, pointing fingers?

His behavior was sewing discord and upsetting everyone. I found it ironic. We had an angry person that provoked fights and yelled out slanderous, racial things to a stranger, threw punches and was ready to brawl but I was the one that had been in handcuffs. I shook my head slightly.

Before we returned to the camp, Jack and I had decided not to tell anyone about the pilot or what he said so we didn't upset the survivors. The information wasn't going to help them. It would only instill fear and discouragement. Charlie agreed to keep it a secret. This was before we returned to the battling duo, so the answer was "no" to any questions about any front-end survivors.

Sayid was already assessing the transceiver and knew it's specs. He returned to tell me the battery was good but radio was dead. I noticed Sayid's long fingernails and found them fascinating. He used them like tools to lift certain pieces to show me what was wrong.

He was obviously skilled and had experience with electronics and radios. I asked him if he could fix it. He said he needed some time and walked away. He was still coming down from what just happened. For some reason, I believed if anyone could fix it, he would, or at least he would give it his best effort.

* * *

I was hot, dirty, sweaty and felt disgusting after the downpour in the jungle, sliding in the mud and climbing up that front end past the dead bodies. I needed to wash off.

I walked far away from the camp to a secluded cove, far beyond where I stitched Jack. It was virgin beach. Nobody had made it this far. Fear was probably part of the reason. The waves and sky made it seem beautiful here, but I felt there was something else behind all of the greenery, ocean and blue skies.

How did I just survive a plane crash of this magnitude wide awake, get ejected from the fuselage, and have hardly a scratch on me. I just had a few bruises and marks including a sore spot on the right side of my forehead along the hairline. It was probably changing colors into a nice bruise, but that was nothing. I've had worse.

I quickly stripped down to my underwear and tank top from my original outfit. I rinsed out my shirt and cargo pants and put them on the rocks to dry. I brought a large hand towel I found, jeans and an orange t-shirt with clean socks from an unclaimed suitcase. I already had hiking shoes I had acquired this morning. I blocked out where I got them from my mind. It was a terrible task to getting them.

I spent the first part of my time there crying, releasing the horror, sorrow and anguish I had been holding. I don't know how much was from yesterday or the past. I just sat in the water and cried for a while before pulling myself together. My walls that protected me, my ability to push all that down, was overloaded. I wasn't expecting to cry, but it was better to do it in private. I wasn't looking for comfort or to talk about it. I was overwhelmed, not just with everything but I was surrounded by people, ones that wanted to talk to me, smile at me, and trusted me like Jack did with the stitches and hike. I wasn't used to it.

I was one of the crash survivors, part of a group for the first time in my life. This group including me might need each other to continue to survive here. I felt bad for all of the other people on the beach. They had no idea that rescue was probably not going to find us. Some had already lost family and friends from the crash.

I tried to pull myself together. It had been only two days so far but I felt acceptance with the people I had met. This was the most interaction with people I had experienced in my adult life in such a short amount of time. My life was a string of lies for 3 years to hide my identity. I felt naked here and exposed, not just because I was bathing.

We were in a bad situation, but my outdoor skills might come in handy when it came to finding food sources for everyone. I spotted coconut palms, banana and mango trees on our trek into the jungle yesterday. All of them had food ready to be harvested. Maybe it would buy us some time in case the radio was fixed and worked. I would start collecting food at some point. The airplane rations would run out if they hadn't already.

The salt water was warm. It felt good. It washed away the grime, sweat, tears and snot from my face and body after bawling. I used sand to scrub my legs, glad I didn't have any cuts. I swam a little so I could rinse out my hair after using travel shampoo, then I stood and pulled off my formerly white tank top. I tossed it over my shoulder, then ran my fingers through my long, curly hair. When my hair was wet and hanging down, it was level with my bra line. The curls would spring up and make my hair look shorter when it was dried.

My hair is brown with an auburn hue. I took my time to wind it into a messy bun and wrapped one of the black elastic bands around it twice to hold it. I was standing in my bra and underwear at that point.

I heard a soft, feminine voice behind me. It was the pretty Korean woman, the one with the overbearing husband. She looked a little embarrassed. This was the first time she had tried to communicate directly with me and had come a long way to do it.

I had noticed the woman and her husband, but more so his treatment of her. I didn't need a translator for me to see that he was mean and snapped at her, along with the fact her cardigan was buttoned to the top and she looked miserable and hot. Some tones and expressions were universal.

She usually looked unhappy. I saw her looking at him resentfully when his back was turned. Maybe she felt trapped. I understood the feeling. I had already planned to keep an eye out for her. I wasn't going to tolerate any man hitting a woman here, even if I had to do something about it myself. I'm small but I knew how to fight. I had a feeling I would have backup though.

The woman watched me and gestured more than once to the camp, talking. She was conveying that I was needed by somebody. I understood. I nodded slightly to the woman in understanding and gave a small smile. I saw the hint of a smile on the woman's face in return. She watched me, looking back, as she slowly went to leave.

I wondered if the woman wanted to wash off but wasn't allowed to. I wish she spoke English or I spoke Korean. I would tell her it's better to bathe in numbers and she was welcome to join me if it would make her feel safe. I thought for a moment as I watched her go. Then it struck me. How did she know I was needed?

* * *

I was wringing out my tank top with one hand. I glanced towards the camp direction, then finished up. After thinking of the attempt of the woman to smile, Jack and Sayid, I started to feel more energized. I had been alone for so long, except the short stay with Ray, but now I was needed.

I felt a surge of enthusaism. I hurried back after dressing and jumped over wreckage, carrying my freshly rinsed white dress shirt. It would be a good bug and sun repellant or help keep me warm later. My other clothes were hanging by the sleeping area I had claimed on a wing.

Sayid had fixed the radio and was wrapping it with black electrical tape. I smiled at the news. I could see his excitement as he explained it all to me. It was fixed but we needed better reception bars to send a signal farther. He was animated when he spoke. I saw he had a kind demeanor with sensitive, ink black eyes. They may have been brown but he had black, shoulder length hair that was curlier than mine. His hair blew in his face with the breeze. He said we could try and get a signal from high ground.

I asked how high. He looked up behind me. I turned around and looked at the rocks, plants and uneven terrain that went high into a mountainside behind us, my face growing serious. I had to shade my eyes to see it all. It was steep, covered with vines and vegetation and unclear if some areas were climbable. I have always been great at climbing, but my expertise was trees, not rocks or mountains.

But, if that's what Sayid said we had to do, I would go with him to give the survivors the best chance of sending out a radio distress signal, even if it meant putting my new-found freedom at risk. I could still figure out how to get away.

* * *

I went to see Jack. I wanted to tell him what I was going to do. It was that compulsion again. Why did I feel that need? I don't report or check in with anyone, not even as a child in Ames. I could have taken off saying nothing but felt like he should know. I didn't understand yet why I felt this way towards him. My mind drifted to the experience of stitching him back together.

Jack was pouring water around Edward's shrapnel wound. There was dried blood coming down from the marshal's head and torso. He was pale now with a yellow hue.

Jack looked at me, his eyes glancing at the man, then back to me shaking his head. Not good.

"How is he? Can you do anything?" I was concerned. Jack turned and looked at the man and his brow wrinkled. I was surprised at what he said next.

"Pull out the shrapnel." Jack spoke matter of fact.

I was confused at the reversal of strategy. "But you said yesterday that if you took it out . . ."

Jack interrupted, his wide shoulders and back to me as he looked at his patient, shaking his head. "I know. But that was yesterday. I was hoping he'd be at a hospital by now. If I leave him like this, he'll be dead within a day."

"If I open him up . . . if I can control the bleeding and if he doesn't go into sepsis and if I can find some antibiotics . . . he might be all right. But there's no way of knowing until I see what kind of damage there is in there."

He looked at my face. I was a little freaked out at the thought Jack operating here. Jack made a morose kind of joke for my benefit. "Hey, at least he's unconscious."

I absorbed this and made my decision. I stepped closer to Jack. I still felt the need to tell him where I was headed but had the feeling he might object, not that it would stop me. "I'm going on a hike."

Jack turned, his lips parted and brows raised. "Sorry?" He looked like he didn't understand why I would go out there again.

I continued so he would understand why it was important. "Sayid fixed the transceiver, but we can't use it. Not from here."

Jack stood quickly and came close to me, face to face while shaking his head. "Kate, wait a minute." I could see he was against my going.

I was firm with my reasoning. "You're the one who said that we had to send out a signal. Someone has to . . . and it can't be you, not with what he needs." I nodded towards the marshal.

Jack shook his head. "Yeah, and we do, but I don't want you going in there."

"There's not time. We obviously need to send out a signal sooner than later." I held firm.

He interrupted me with "Kate . . ." before, but I had kept talking.

He bent down to look at me closely so we were eye to eye to make sure I was listening. He spoke quietly in case anyone could hear us. Privacy was a luxury here. "Look, you saw what that thing did to the pilot."

I held fast. My face was set, but my voice choked for a fraction of a second. "Yeah, I did. What makes you think we're any safer here than we are in the jungle?" I shook her head, trying to convince him we were deluded if we thought anywhere was safe with that thing running around.

Jack's face softened. He couldn't argue with that. He gave me a look I hadn't seen before from him. It was one I hadn't seen from any man for a long time. He was worried, protective, and he cared. "Wait for me. I don't know how long this will take . . ." He gestured at the marshal.

I cut him off. "Sayid said the batteries won't last."

Jack was starting to look frustrated and worried at the same time. He knew he couldn't stop me. He looked up and away, then came back, leaning down so he was eye to eye with me again.

He spoke again in the quiet tone standing close and leaning in, inches from my face. "All right. If you see, or hear, anything . . ." He gestured for emphasis. "Anything. Run."

"You know I will." I looked at him fully in the face, determined, a fierce feeling of pride swept over me. He doesn't know how experienced I am at running.

"Good luck." Jack said. He wasn't happy about my going and not waiting for him. That was obvious.

I looked at the marshal, feeling that bizarre connection to my former captor.

I looked back up at Jack, whom I felt tied to in a new, positive way. "You too."


	4. Chapter 4: Trust Me

_A/N: Thank you to LostArt and Guests for taking time to write reviews. I love the details you caught beyond written words and the insight you add. I really enjoyed reading them!_

" **You see, you closed your eyes. That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too-even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling." -Mitch Albom** _ **  
**_

I was filling an empty water bottle from the tarp. I feeling determined and ready. Sayid was nearby. He was putting the fixed transceiver in a plastic bag, then wrapped it in a beach towel. I rejoined him at our backpacks and we zipped them up. I would carry waters for both of us to avoid any mishaps with the transceiver. We were provisioning ourselves for the hike.

Sayid glanced up at me and spoke in a quiet voice. "The others. They've heard about the thing you saw. The pilot." He paused.

I was caught off guard. Jack, Charlie and I had agreed not to talk about it or scare the other survivors. I frowned slightly. I knew who the leak was. Despite that, of all of the people here, I didn't mind that Sayid knew.

He watched my reaction, then continued. "I understand why you and the doctor decided not to frighten us, but your English friend is telling anyone who would listen. . . They think we are insane for going back in there."

I met Sayid's eyes. I hesitated, then took a breath and spoke. "If he told you about the pilot, then he told you what the pilot said. The rescue people . . . they're looking in the wrong place. They're not going to find us."

Sayid nodded, his eyes not leaving my face. He looked curious. "I don't like it here. But you . . . you don't like it here even more than I do." I didn't respond, my face was grim. "Sending a signal from high ground, this is something we need to do." He paused, watching me carefully. "But your willingness to go back in, after whatever it is you saw. It is either impressive, brave or something else . . . I don't really understand."

Sayid looked at me with those dark, deep eyes of his, like he was reading my soul. I looked back. God, it was unnerving. I had no answer for him. To his credit, he didn't demand one.

A few moments went by. We stood, ready to go. We had food including fresh-picked fruit, the transceiver and now water. I brought my shirt and a pull-over in case it cooled down. We had already estimated it could take all day to ascend the treacherous looking mountains including rest breaks. The descent, at night, would be suicide, especially with the thing out there. We were walking targets, so camping was likely.

We stood and heard bickering from some familiar voices. They were approaching us. Sayid and I began to leave. I hoped the "Bickersons" were passing by, but no such luck. It was Shannon and Boone with none other than Charlie trailing them.

Shannon looked like she had been crying. She was wearing one of her fancy tank tops, edged in small rivets, jean shorts and expensive Keds-type shoes. "I'd like to come with you." She spoke directly to me because Sayid had taken a step back, his hand over his mouth. His eyes looked slightly amused and horrified at the same time.

I guess I get to be the bad guy. "Thanks, but we're . . ."

Boone interrupted, talking to me and anyone who would listen. "She doesn't want to go. She does this . . ."

Shannon cut him off. "The hell I'm not! You don't know what the hell I 'do!'"

"She postures and makes choices just to infuriate her family, which at the moment is ME!" Boone argued, telling me for Shannon's benefit.

"Shut up and stop trying to be charming!" She yelled at him. She looked at Sayid, then turned and spoke to me since my partner had taken a back seat to this spectacle. "I'm coming with you." Her eyes looked made up, but voice and face were not convincing. Her decision had nothing to do with our mission. It looked like she was trying to prove something to Boone. I don't know what their problem was but didn't want to get involved with family matters or deal with adults arguing like kids.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." I didn't want to list the dangers, the thing, plus the fact they would probably slow us down.

Shannon retorted back. "What are you, like, two years older than me? Please!" Her tone rubbed me the wrong way. This wasn't the venue to prove anything. I had half a mind to go ask her to climb a tree and pick fruit, something challenging and helpful to prove herself. Shannon had already turned to Charlie, who had an eager puppy look when he stared at her. "You're going, right?" She sniffed from the residual tears from her tantrum.

"Where, on the hike? Are you?" Charlie looked at Shannon.

"Yup."

"Yes, I'm going. Definitely." Charlie seemed excited at the prospect.

Great. This was getting better by the moment.

I looked at Sayid. His eyes were wide and his hand was still over his mouth. He gestured by spreading his fingers and shrugging. He left it on my shoulders. I had enough of the trio's chit-chat by then. We were burning daylight.

"Look. Everybody can come." I raised my voice and spoke firmly, looking at each of them with an admonishment and warning to not screw around. I heaved my bag onto my back. "But we are leaving now." I took off with Sayid and let them decide to follow or bail. Hopefully bail. I couldn't take a day of listening to that. The thing would find us in no time.

My ears are sharp. I caught Charlie quietly talking behind us, several yards back. "You couldn't tell from that, but she's quite nice, really."

* * *

It didn't take long before we were in the shade of the jungle. It had a thick canopy, blocking most of the daylight that we left less than 50 yards back. The trio had decided to follow me and Sayid. We both led, side by side. We were not only leading the hiking. I was watching the left side automatically while he scanned the right.

I heard a heavy tread approaching quickly from behind. For a moment, my heart quickened. I thought it might be Jack, but then was puzzled. Instead of the steady, long stride I was used to hearing, this step was different, still long but a bit uneven, like a swagger. I figured out who it was before he brushed by me to take the lead. Sawyer.

"So, you decided to join us?" I asked. I saw him sitting alone again earlier, reading the same letter with a sad look. He tried so hard to be hateful, but I was starting to see he had thick layers because I have them too. It didn't mean I wanted him going with this small group.

Sawyer strode ahead to take the lead. "I'm a complex guy, sweetheart."

I paused with Sayid and pursed my lips. Part of me wanted to tell him off. Sawyer was welcome to come, but better not make any trouble with Sayid. The trio stopped behind us quietly.

Sayid and I looked at each other, both with raised eyebrows and continued on.

* * *

The mountain slopes were angled high and treacherous if one slipped. But, there were long grasses, vines and roots galore to grab while climbing that helped us pull ourselves up to the next level. Sawyer led the way. I was behind him, scanning periodically with the fear for that thing may be around. We had more people to lose now and I didn't like it. I felt responsible for them.

I found Sawyer was an adept climber, same as I am. Charlie was doing okay behind me. Sayid and Boone were behind helping Shannon between them. Sayid pointed out or handed Shannon vines and things to hold to and Boone did the same or gave her a boost if needed.

Sawyer helped me without asking, to my surprise. I was too short to reach some roots to climb to the next level sometimes, so he lifted me until I could get a good hold and clamber my way up. He would climb up beside me to make sure I made it, or if he got ahead of me, would pull me up, sometimes with one arm like I weighed nothing. He was an asset with that part of the trip, almost nice to have along when his mouth was shut.

I felt good at our group's steady progress. I just prayed the peace would hold during the trip.

It lasted as long as the steep climb did.

"Okay. Wide open space." Sawyer gestured with his arms all around us. We were on strip of land with high grass and tall trees now, ascending the mountain still. Sawyer looked at Sayid. "You should check the radio, see if we're good." His tone was not friendly. It was the statement of someone in a hurry to be done and go back to what? His letter and chain smoking? His anger, caustic comments and nicknames?

"We're not gonna have any reception yet." Sayid kept moving ahead.

Sawyer didn't give up. "Tell you what . . . just try it."

Sayid answered somewhat patiently, but I could see he was annoyed. "I don't want to waste the batteries."

"I'm not asking you to keep it on all day," Sawyer retorted.

Sayid replied flatly. "We're still blocked by the mountain."

Sawyer snapped. "Just check the damn radio!"

Sayid stopped, angry, and looked at Sawyer. I was tense, hoping this didn't turn ugly. "If I just CHECK, we might not have any juice left when we get to . . ."

There was a loud noise that distracted us. It was a combination of a rumble and a growl. It was loud and coming from the overgrown grass ahead and was moving fast. We all froze, afraid.

"What the hell is that?" Boone asked. Shannon was quiet, panicking next to him.

We all watched as the tall-growing grass began to part far away. Whatever it was, it was charging and headed our way.

Charlie spoke, choking out his words. "Coming towards us, I think. . . ?" It was growling, making horrible noises and kicking up a lot of dust and dirt behind it.

I had been through enough with that thing yesterday. I tried to think and the only words that came to mind were Jack's, that if I "hear anything, anything at all . . . run!" I grabbed Charlie and we ran off. "LET'S MOVE!" I yelled at everyone.

The beast was getting louder. I could hear Shannon screaming shrilly behind me. "I SHOULDN'T HAVE COME ON THIS!" I hoped Boone would drag her skinny butt along. Sayid caught up with us easily. I glanced back. Boone had Shannon by the arm and was running too. The only person that wasn't moving was Sawyer. He stood alone, his legs squared, facing whatever was coming. What the hell was he doing? Did he have a death wish?

"SAWYER, COME ON!" I screamed at him. I couldn't leave anyone behind. I tried to turn around to get him but Sayid neatly snared my waist and dragged me, then kept me going forward by swiveling my body to run in the same direction as him.

"LET HIM GO!" Sayid yelled at me.

We were in a full-out sprint. Then I started hearing gunshots. They registered by the third one and I pulled up and stopped in my tracks, turning around. A gun! Sawyer was shooting at it. Where did he get a gun? I was panting and shocked. I counted off the rounds as he shot. It sounded like a 9mm. The monster got closer and closer as Sawyer steadily fired at it. It suddenly exploded from the tall grass, a giant, ferocious animal with huge teeth. Instead of landing on him. It fell to the ground, dirty and bleeding. 9 shots. The clip held 10 bullets.

We were all running back this point. Sawyer was pale. He was staring at it as we were. It was a giant, white bear. We were all winded as we walked over to the beast to check it out. It inhaled and exhaled its last breath.

"That's. . .that's a big bear." Shannon commented.

"You think . . . Is that what killed the pilot?" Boone asked. I looked at Charlie. That was exactly why he should have kept his mouth shut. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"That? No. No, that's maybe a little tiny preemie baby version. This is nothing compared to that."

As he spoke, I got closer to take a look at it. "Guys? This isn't just a bear. . . It's a polar bear." I looked back at them. They were all staring at it in disbelief. Sawyer shoved the gun into the back of his pants. I caught the motion, wanting to snag it later if I could. I didn't want him pointing that at one of us, specifically at Sayid. I was going to protect him at any cost.

Boone spoke up. "That can't be a polar bear."

"It's a polar bear." Sawyer, Sayid and I said it at the same time.

"What a minute! Polar bears don't normally live in the jungle, right?" Shannon asked.

Charlie stood close to her. "Yeah, spot-on. No, they don't."

I turned to Sayid. "Have you ever heard of anything like this?"

"No, this is, uh, polar bears don't live near this far south." He shook his head with his thumb and first finger under his chin.

"This one does." Boone said.

Sawyer turned to all of us. "Did. It did. You're welcome for that."

I looked at him, aggravated. What was his real intention bringing that gun?

I snapped at him. "Where did that come from?"

"Prob'ly Bear Village. How the hell do I know?" He was still stuck on the bear.

"Not the bear, the gun." My voice slowed and dropped in register. I wasn't going to play any of his little games.

Sawyer caught my look and gave me a straight answer. "I got it off one of the bodies."

Sayid confronted him too. "One of the bodies?"

"Yeah, one of the bodies." Sawyer retorted with an f-you attitude.

"People don't carry guns on planes!" Shannon exclaimed.

"They do if they're a U.S. Marshal! There was one on the plane." Sawyer said, almost triumphantly.

My stomach felt a bit queasy but I kept a straight face. I was going to have to play dumb to stay off the radar, even when I got that gun from him.

"How do you know that?!" I demanded.

"'Cause I saw a guy lying there with an ankle holster, so I took the gun, thought it might come in handy. Guess what? It did! I shot a freakin' polar bear!"

"Why do you think he was a marshal?" I asked, ignoring his bragging.

"Because he had a clip-on badge!" Sawyer whipped out the marshal's badge, angry now. "Took that too! Thought it was cool! Listen, Sweetheart, you should be kissin' my ass after what I just did for you!" My eyes looked at him, coolly assessing him and what I was going to do next.

Sayid eyes flashed. He didn't like the turn of conversation or Sawyer's words to me. "I know who you are. You're the prisoner."

Sawyer turned to him in disbelief and asked after a pause, "I'm the what?"

Sayid was mad. "You found a gun on a U.S. Marshal? Yes, I believe you did. You knew it was there because you were the one he was bringing back to the States. Those handcuffs were on you. That's how you knew there was a gun!"

Everyone was staring at Sawyer now nervously, except for me and Sayid. Sayid was facing him and I had made my way behind Sawyer.

"Hey, guess what, screw you!" Sawyer was escalating along with Sayid.

"That's who you are, you son-of-a-bitch!" Sayid yelled at him. This was going to go bad fast.

"Be as suspicious of me as I am of you. Go ahead!" Sawyer challenged him.

"You accuse me, but you are the prisoner!" Sayid accused.

"Fine, I'm the criminal! You're the terrorist, we can all play a part!" Sawyer turned to Shannon. "Who do you wanna be? I'll tell ya what you should be!"

In the middle of the argument and Sawyer's gesturing and pointing, I took the opportunity to snatch the gun. I pulled it and shoved him away at the same time so he couldn't grab it or me. I held it, pointing it straight at Sawyer, who swung around in surprise. "HEY!" He yelled. I stood a few yards away, out of lunging distance.

I continued to hold the gun on Sawyer. There was no way I was going to let him start taking swings at Sayid or continue to upset our group. Everyone froze. I could feel the tension. My mind was working as I looked intensely at Sawyer. I couldn't let them know how skilled I am with guns.

"Who knows how to use a gun?" I asked. My voice was a little emotional but not on purpose.

Charlie immediately answered. "I think you just pull the trigger."

Sayid spoke to me calmly. I could hear the slightest trace of amusement in his voice. "Don't shoot him."

"I want to take it apart." I said, pretending to not know how to.

"There's a button on the grip, push that, it will eject the magazine." Sayid instructed me using the same tone. I did it quickly. It popped out and I picked it up. "But there's still a round in the chamber." He pretended to have a gun in his hand to illustrate as I glanced over. "Hold the grip, pull back on the top part of the gun." I did and the bullet popped out. I picked that up too. I tossed Sayid the clip and handed the worthless gun to Sawyer.

Sawyer looked amused. He grabbed my upper arm as I handed him the gun and yanked me close. "I know your type." I jerked away to get away from him, but he held me tightly.

"I'm not so sure." I glared at him while looking into his sapphire blue, amused eyes.

"Yeah, I've been with girls like you."

I gave him a hard look. "No girl's exactly like me." I managed to extricate myself from his grip, catching the same look from Sawyer, dimples and all. I walked away for a few minutes, needing some time alone from the freak show.

Sawyer took off and headed up the hillside and the others followed. I watched, then looked away. It felt like all the blood left my head. I felt a little sick. Briefly, the last few minutes on the plane ran through my mind as I sat next to the marshal. I crossed my arms and put my back against the tree.

I didn't want anyone to know I was with the marshal and be an outcast, but I don't want Sawyer accusing Sayid or to start brawling with him. Sayid didn't do anything. He was someone I respected and wanted to be friends with if he felt the same. I had discovered I wanted friends, to be liked. It was only Day 3.

I was also upset at Sawyer. He saw something or at least he thinks he did. He looked me in the eyes when he grabbed me and said what he did. It disturbed me.

After several minutes, I heard Sayid come up next to me. He spoke sweetly. "We should keep moving, Kate."

I nodded and began to walk again quietly, Sayid stayed by my side.

* * *

We made it to a big, open field below the highest cliff. Sayid turned on the radio and said there was a signal bar, to my elation. He was adjusting it, trying to tune in.

Sawyer couldn't resist saying something. "Oh. Now it's a good time to check the radio. Not before, but now."

"We're up higher now." Sayid said, more focused on the radio than the comment. He tried different frequencies, then said someone else was already transmitting, blocking our signal. Everyone erupted into questions and Sawyer made another rude comment. It was just noise to me and not helpful. Sayid seemed to be ignoring them too.

"Can we listen to it?" I asked him.

"I don't know what frequency the signal is. Hold on." Sayid scanned the frequencies.

"There's no transmission." Sawyer said with a snort.

"Sawyer, shut up!" I raised my voice.

A woman's voice came over the radio. She was speaking in French. Everybody started talking. There was a lot of bickering and encouragement for Shannon to translate since Boone claimed she knew French.

Shannon protested and whined saying she didn't know it, she was drinking, not studying the year she was in Paris. I was losing patience with her, with everyone. They all were talking at once. Shannon obviously had no confidence.

Sayid was concerned about the transceiver battery and iteration number, the counter after each message. He was running a calculation in his head.

Everybody in the group finally hushed as the battery got low. Sayid handed Shannon the radio, while the others whispered, pleaded with and encouraged her to try. She translated it.

"She's saying 'Please help me. Please come get me.'" Shannon started.

"Or she's not! You don't speak French!" Sawyer exclaimed. Shannon's face fell.

"Let her listen!" I snapped at him.

Shannon looked over at me, then closed her eyes to try again. "'Please help . . . I'm alone now . . .on the island alone. Someone, please come . . . The others, they're dead. It killed them. It killed them all.'" She opened her eyes in fright. The message had scared the crap out of her.

The battery died. There was utter silence except for the wind.

Sayid broke the silence. He had the calculation. The message had been playing in a loop for 16 years and 5 months, a mayday. He looked terrified when he said it.

"Someone else was stranded here?" Boone asked.

"Maybe someone came for them?" I said, trying to sound hopeful for their benefit.

"If someone came, why's it still playing?" Sawyer responded. That was a good question.

All six of us stood there, all equally worried. I looked around. We all had the same look on our face. Maybe we weren't so lucky to survive if that was what we had to look forward to.

Charlie broke the silence after several moments went by. "Guys, where are we?"

* * *

We slowly made our way back. It was getting dark. I was preoccupied. 16 friggin' years. I thought I had a chance of being free again, to slip aboard some passing ship that answered our call and disappear wherever they docked, slipping away as I went back on the run.

I wondered if the marshal was dead yet. I was still sorting out the bizarre connection to him. It was almost sick in a way. It wasn't Stockholm Syndrome but would be somewhere in the same category maybe minus the affection on my part. I can't speak for him with some of his behavior. He repulsed and angered me for good reasons, but I still didn't wish death on him.

I had been looking out for the group up until the news. Dark descended quickly.

The news was so disheartening, I became introspective, something that could be deadly here. The thing was somewhere out here, it was almost dark and we were at a high elevation.

"Watch out!"

I turned abruptly. Charlie reached out and grabbed my shoulder as I almost slipped abruptly down the steep incline, the final one we had to scale, to get there. I couldn't see in the dark and was buried in my thoughts. Charlie had just saved my life.

"You all right?" He asked. I put my hands on my knees, feeling a head rush and needed a moment. For once I was grateful to Charlie. He saved me from my own stupidity.

"Yeah, thanks." I said. I stood and patted him on the top of his shoulder. I meant it when I said thanks. I needed to stay focused for me, for them. We headed towards the rest of the group.

Sayid, Shannon, Boone and Sawyer were away from the edge in the grass and had just reached an open space before heading further down into the denser trees, part of the jungle.

Sayid suggested making camp for the night. Charlie and I looked at each other in the dim light, knowing what was in the jungle.

"I'm not stopping. Y'all have a nice cookout." Sawyer said and started to continue.

Sayid called after his slowly retreating form. "Excellent, walk through the jungle in the dark."

"Ooooh. You think the trees are gonna get us?" Sawyer mocked.

Sayid answered plainly. "No. What is knocking down the trees is going to get you."

Sawyer reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out the useless gun. "If you're so worried about me, why don't you give me that clip back?" Sayid looked down at the magazine clip he had. I stood next to Sayid and the group. I had enough of Sawyer's b.s. Mouth or not, I didn't want to find him dead, skinned alive and broken in the trees the next day.

"Put your gun in your pants, Sawyer!" He grinned at my words, but did it anyways. "Sayid is right. We need to stop, put the mountain at our back so we're protected on one side. If you keep walking, you won't make it to the beach."

"Yeah, why's that?" Sawyer challenged me.

I didn't break eye contact with him. I stared at him with intensity, trying to convey he was a dead man walking if he left. "Trust me."

It was a statement I hadn't used for years.

Nobody on the outside did if they knew about Edward's list of accusations against me.

But I needed him and our group to if they wanted to live.

* * *

We all sat around the campfire. I was almost prone, leaning against a log to stay upright, my arms folded. Charlie and I shared the details of going into the jungle the previous day and what the pilot said. We were in a circle around the campfire. I had a pullover top on to keep warm. Sayid stood and went over our route based on the information we were filling in. I explained what had happened. 6 hours into the flight, the pilot's transponders failed. Nobody could see our plane. They changed direction, headed for Fiji, were a thousand miles off course when all the instrumentation shut down and the plane fell apart and crashed.

There were a lot of glum faces watching as Sayid demonstrated out flight pattern using rocks as Sydney and the mainland, a lit stick as the plane, and Charlie's shoe for the island.

There were a few questions and speculations. Nobody could dispute the pilot and the fact we were over 1,000 miles off course. There was no rescue party coming. Sawyer did his own summary of what was said and stopped to ask me a question, calling me "Freckles."

I gave him a f-you look before I answered. His little summary didn't help. It only made the group unsettled, something I disliked.

Sayid took over. He talked about the French woman's transmission. He said we weren't' going to tell the survivors anything about it. "To relay what we heard without fully understanding it will cause a panic. People don't like questions they don't have the answers to. We tell them what we know, we take away their hope, and hope . . ." He paused meaningfully, as if it came from personal experience, ". . . is a very dangerous thing to lose."

I spoke softly, but everyone heard. "So, we lie."

Sayid nodded. Nobody could dispute his logic. We all looked around at each other, exchanging glances.

We had just become conspirators in a lie.

Great.

It made me feel worse.

* * *

Late that night, as everyone slept, Boone somehow lifted the gun off of Sawyer. He was trying to lift the clip from Sayid. "Hey!" Sayid yelled and woke the group. We were all laying around the dying embers of the fire.

Boone already had the clip and was retreating to get away. He slammed it into the gun. Everyone was startled, even more so at what was causing the commotion. I couldn't believe Boone would do that. What the hell did he know about guns? I separated those pieces for all of their safety, especially Sayid's.

"What are you doing?" Sayid asked angrily.

"Standing guard." Boone said. I think he meant it to come out as confident, but his voice wavered. He was younger than Sayid, Sawyer, even me and obviously had no experience compared to us. He looked like he would be more comfortable with a tennis racket in his hand.

"You took my gun off me, boy?!" Sawyer growled at him. Boone backed off away from both men.

"Please, you never even held a gun! You don't even believe in them." She looked around at us. "He goes on marches."

"I do not go on marches!" Boone shot back.

"Give it to me." Sayid said. His voice was full of authority.

"Oh, yeah! Give Al Jazeera the gun! He'll protect us." Sawyer's sarcasm and anger added fuel to the fire. He was flogging a dead horse with that one as far as me but it upset Sayid.

"I think Al Jazeera is a network." Charlie offered.

"I'll keep the damn gun!" Boone stated.

By then, we were all standing, tense, wondering how this was going to end. Should I walk up and take it from Boone? Maybe he would feel less threatened.

I wondered why on God's green earth I was in the middle of this circus. I was back thinking only Sayid and I should have come. The two of us were quiet. We could have maybe even avoided alerting the polar bear without the din the group made with their non-stop talking and arguing.

I was shocked when I heard the next words. They came from Shannon. "I think we should give her the gun." She was referring to me. Why?

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, Kate should hold the gun." I just stood there quietly and didn't respond. Did these people in our little band trust me? It was an alien feeling to me, being trusted, even being a member of a small group on this mission. I didn't know how to feel.

"Fine with me." Sayid said. He looked at Boone. Boone was amped up but he knew was outnumbered. He willingly handed it to me. I reached and took it. I felt hardened from threat of night and the jungle.

I slipped it into the back of my jeans. We would be lucky if no more predators or the thing didn't hear us. There was only one bullet left in the clip and it wasn't going to stop a polar bear or a monster. At least it wouldn't be used on one of us, on purpose or on accident. I could protect them from that.

* * *

We all made it back to camp in quick time the next morning. It was twice as fast going downhill. Sayid stood on the airplane wing and spoke to the 40+ survivors, saying the lie. The transceiver didn't pick up a signal but we weren't giving up.

He immediately encouraged them to split into three groups, each tasked with an important job that would benefit the camp, tarps for gathering rainwater, gathering batteries and electronic equipment to boost the signal, and ration remaining food. He assigned a leader for each. People nodded, agreed and seemed to have a sense of purpose for the moment. Sayid was proving to be a good leader, motivator and organizer in addition to other skills.

I spotted Jack walking up from down the beach. He was just arriving. I couldn't tell if he was listening to Sayid or not. I smiled, jumping off the wing and walked over to him.

I stood in front of him, genuinely glad to see Jack. "Hi." I said, smiling. I secretly hoped he was glad to see I survived unscathed.

"Hey." He met my eyes and smiled, but his face shifted back to the more serious demeanor he wore walking up. He looked down a moment, an awkward moment.

"I, um, I need to tell you something." I wanted to tell him the truth. I felt the need to, which was another new feeling. Maybe this island was doing something to me, maybe something else, but I couldn't tell him the lie. "But we should . . ." I glanced to my left at the group. "Want to walk?"

"Sure." He nodded. He looked as if he maybe was expecting this conversation. Did he not believe Sayid? He also looked nervous. I felt nervous too for some reason. Maybe I was feeding off of his energy. We finally stopped farther down the beach out of earshot.

"I know you don't know me. We don't really know each other, but . . ." I met his eyes with simple honesty, the real me speaking, "I need you to try to hear what I'm telling you, okay?"

Jack nodded. "Okay." He looked relieved for some reason. I didn't understand.

"We weren't able to send out a signal because there was another signal blocking it." Jack frowned, some emotions flitted across his eyes. I continued. "The other signal, we heard it. It was a distress call from a French woman. She said that the others were dead. Something had killed all of them, that she was alone on the Island. It's been playing for 16 years, Jack" I paused. He was taking the information in and looking at me without reacting. "We don't know what it means or what to do about it." I looked in his face, his eyes, sincerely. "But I wanted to tell you."

Jack nodded and paused. His response wasn't what I expected. "Anything else?" He asked me.

I bit the inside of my lip and thought about the trip. "There was a polar bear."

Jack looked at me, speechless.

I noticed a tent behind me where the marshal had been. Jack must have constructed it yesterday. A blue tarp was making noise, flapping with the increased winds. "How is he, the man with the shrapnel in his side?" I nodded somberly at it.

"It's touch-and-go." He nodded and looked around, his eyes flat and unreadable. I felt a weird vibe from him, like he was angry or frustrated.

"Did he wake up?" I asked.

"No, just for a few seconds during the surgery." Jack shook his head once, then nodded when he said completed the sentence. It was a tell sign. I frowned. His head nodding was contradicting the "no" he just said. It was body language 101. He just lied to me.

"Did he say anything?" I asked, praying that he hadn't. Why else did Jack lie to me? I didn't want my free existence here to be over. I liked being treated normal, helping, and being a part of something, even if the conditions were primitive.

"No." Jack looked at me. That look wasn't like any other he has given me so far. It was intense, searching with no trace of . . . I don't know. There wasn't even kindness in his eyes.

This wasn't the concerned Jack that wanted me to wait for him to hike together or not go at all, the one that sat with me by the bonfire, the Jack that I took to get the transceiver, or the doctor I sewed up. It was almost like I was facing a stranger.

Was he stressed about the marshal or. . .? I couldn't think the other option. If I did, my feet might betray me and bolt for the jungle so I wouldn't humiliated further. I didn't want to break down in front of someone else who pre-judged and didn't like me.

It must be the marshal, I thought. Jack's upset he didn't heal him after all that work.

I hoped I wasn't lying to myself.

* * *

I walked to the tent, looking for Jack. The waves had picked up more. It was going to rain soon. Lightning could be seen lighting up the offshore, grey clouds and heard in the distance.

The larger man came bustling out of the tent with an armload of oceanic water bottles cut in half to make cups. He almost ran into me and shouted because he was scared.

"Hey, sorry." I apologized for scaring him. I smiled.

He looked nervous. "I was going to get some more water."

"We haven't met. I'm Kate." I introduced herself and held out my small right hand to shake his. He offered his hand to shake. It dwarfed mine.

"Hi, Kate." He responded slowly. Sweat was beading up on his forehead despite the cool breeze.

There was a long pause. "Hhhhurley." He said his name funny. He was on edge for some reason.

"I was just looking for Jack and I thought he might be in there." I was hoping to check in with him again, to make sure things were okay. He was acting odd earlier towards me, or in general. I wasn't sure.

"Yeah, no. Uh, he went to go get some medicine... over there." Hurley indicted where Jack went down the beach, far from the medical tent.

"Where? In the fuselage?" I looked to the right of the tent down the beach. I wondered why he would be in there. I turned and didn't see him. I saw Hurley had been looking at my jeans but didn't feel he was checking me out.

Hurley refused to look at my eyes now. "What? Yeah, in the uh, uh, you know? I've got to get that water."

He took off at a dead run, turning to look at me once, giving her "that look," the one I was used to. I narrowed my eyes at him and the feeling he was giving off. I had felt this many, many times before and it wasn't good.

Then I remembered the gun was in my waistband still.

* * *

The camp was busy in their groups doing their assigned jobs and organizing. It was about to rain. Thanks to Sayid's ingenuity, several rain tarps had been set up already to collect water. Sayid was helping with the last of them. They sat in square frames built so they could amass a pool of freshwater for everybody to drink.

I had been waiting for Jack outside the tent but wanted to see how Marshal Edward was doing. I waited until the rain started, then came in and kneeled, looking at him. He was so still. I wondered if he was breathing.

This man had been a plague to me for 3 years but we had the weirdest connection if I even want to call it that. I didn't want to associate myself with him but had no other way to explain it.

Earlier on, I had called him on Feast Days to tell him my side and extenuating circumstances. I had even called his cell phone and home to find him on those days. I always set a timer to cut off the call so I wouldn't be tracked.

I didn't want to be chased anymore. Being on the run only racked up more charges on his list. His taunting and baiting me didn't help, like with Tommy's plane. The DC-3 only thing I had left of him and from my childhood. I believe Edward wanted to create more charges, ignoring details around them, to validate his pursuit of me, to keep my case current. It became personal the night the black horse made him crash and I was able to kick him out of the car and drive away.

All I wanted was to be understood and listened to by someone who believed me. I had nobody. I feel like a nobody. Sometimes I feel like a ghost, a person who's existence doesn't matter. I was looking for some kind of redemption or forgiveness. Calling on Feast Days was a form of atonement, kind of like going to confession. I was confessing to the man that exaggerated my deeds wanted to condemn me the most. That's only one part of the sickness of our connection. He enjoyed those calls, even commented he missed me when I skipped one.

I didn't want him to die, but I didn't want him to suffer. I wouldn't wish that on an animal, even a savage one, much less the man that kept me on the run and miserable the last 3 years. Was he suffering? His bandages were fresh thanks to Jack. He was sweating and appeared to have a fever. I could see his chest continue to rise and fall and the stitches where the shrapnel was removed. The rain continued.

"Can you hear me?" I whispered, leaning in close.

His eyes opened suddenly, scaring me. He recognized me and was enraged, his arms already around my throat. He pressing his thumbs against my windpipe with the intent to kill me. He rose out of the sickbed and got on top of me, intent to choke the life out of my body. His eyes burned with fever. Mine were burning from no oxygen. I was unable to fight with no air and was about to pass out as he continued to choke me, leaning over my body as I began to lose consciousness.

Jack ran in and threw his bag down. "Damn it! Damn it!" He put Edward in a headlock to get him off of me and laying him back on the bed. The marshal started to go into convulsions.

Jack ignored me. I coughed violently and tried not to vomit or black out as I tried to get some air back to my brain. I vomited anyways and continued to cough as Jack hovered over his patient.

Jack talked to Marshal Ed who began to settle and relax, "Just breathe. Come on, come on, look, look at me, look."

His head whipped around, his eyes burning. "What did you do?" He yelled at me. I turned and looked at him, barely able to speak.

"I was just checking to if he was. . ." I coughed and wheezed, struggling to talk. "He jumped on me." I tried to breathe. "He grabbed me." I paused, having a hard time and coughed. "Is he . . . is he . . .okay?" My throat ached terribly.

"He's not responding to antibiotics, he's bleeding internally, his fever's pushing 104. And his abdomen's rigid. He needs water."

I continued to cough trying to suck in air. Jack looked at me, still upset like I did something and shook his head. He didn't bother to check my neck. He wasn't acting like a doctor, much less like he even cared. I felt like a non-person again, a nobody with connections to no-one, not even by a thread.

Jack stalked out, pushing me aside. I followed. He knew something. "That look" from him burned, and actually hurt for the first time since Dad. Jack lied earlier. And Marshal Edward was going to die. I started to panic.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" It was pouring rain. I coughed in between talking.

"About what?" Jack yelled over the rain.

"About him." I answered hoarsely. I wondered if there was a way to ease his pain.

"I told you, he needs water." Jack said. He stalked to one of the tarp collecting bins Sayid and team had set up.

"You told me he was going to die." I struggled with words. Jack said nothing.

"Will he suffer?" I wanted to know, and coughed again. I didn't want him to suffer.

The way Jack looked at me again was like I did something to the marshal to provoke him. I didn't do anything to Edward except give him a few good punches and kicks in the past when trying to escape custody. My last attempt was after almost an hour of baiting and badgering in the Sydney Security Office.

"What?" Jack yelled. He was getting madder by the minute. He stopped and faced me.

"Will it be quick?" I asked.

"No. It won't be quick. 2, 3, maybe 4 days." He was still yelling over the rain but was getting angrier by the moment at me.

"He'll feel it?" I didn't want him to. I know we were stranded. If we were anywhere else, there would be pain meds to give him.

"Yeah, he'll feel it." Jack retorted. He was hostile. He answered as if I wanted Marshal Edward Mars to suffer and have a lingering death. He wasn't listening to me. Did he think I was sadistic?

Did he not see anything good or decent in me since we arrived?

I hate myself enough without having someone I liked and respected reflect it back to me.

"And you can't save him?" I asked him that but knew as it left my lips it was going to push him over the edge. I saw how hard Jack worked to save him, even if he hated me now without knowing what really happened in the tent, or the past.

Jack got some water. He stalked up to me and got right in my face like I was a man, like Sawyer, glaring. My heart raced. "I am not a murderer." He spat out. I was startled, my eyes opened wide, water pouring in them from the rain.

I got choked up, this time from tears. It aggravated my throat, which burned from being choked. I put my hand on my throat and turned, knowing it would have some ugly bruising, and walked away fast. I noticed Sawyer squatting under some wreckage but ignored him. I don't know what he heard but I didn't give a damn.

Jack saying that cut me deep, even if I had known him less than a week. He did a 180 degree turn on me that fast based on what? What exactly did he know? We had been through a lot together in a condensed amount of time. Jack had seemed to like and even respect me before.

I blinked in the rain, which mixed with my tears, and felt cursed again, my past catching up to me because I stayed in one place too long, at Ray Mullen's farm.

Why did he say he "was not a murderer"? Was it one of my questions outside of the tent? He obviously thought I did something to the marshal and didn't believe me when I answered him, despite what he saw when he came in. He could check the marshal for injuries. I did nothing. I didn't even touch Edward except my feeble attempts to keep him from crushing my windpipe.

My brain sifted through memories of what the marshal carried, what was in his pockets. . . If Edward hadn't said anything, then Jack found something. Then it came to me.

The mugshot!

I saw it in Sydney when Marshal Edward put it on the desk of the Sydney Airport Security Manager in front of me. He unfolded it. It was upside down to me, but I could see it.

It was a copy and had my picture from almost 3 years ago when he first arrested me at the bus station, but no charges listed or any other kind of description. It was just a front and side profile with me holding my name on a placard.

The marshal had folded it in four and put it in his suit pocket afterwards.


	5. Chapter 5: Starting Over

_A/N: Ketty and LostArt, thank you for your great reviews! LostArt - great insights as always on Kate, capturing the dynamics between her (a leader), the "leaders" among the men and her ability to "mess" with them._

 _That mugshot revealed more than the fact she was a fugitive. It revealed more about Jack, the need for control, information to the point of obsession (flashback to Sarah's affair his obsession finding out the name of the guy), and anger, partly at not being able to fix the marshal. He took some of that out on Kate._

 _Kate had to read body language versus words to survive for 3 years on the run._

 _I agree with your insight on Jack and Sawyer in the fuselage being two sides of the same coin. Sawyer actually made Jack pause a moment since he talked sense at end of scene. S: "Let me ask you somethin'. How many pills are you gonna use to fix him up?" J: "As many as it takes. S: "Yeah, how many you got? You just ain't lookin' at the big picture, Doc. You're still back in civilization." J: "Yeah, and where are you?" S: "Me? I'm in the wild."_

 **New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings. -** **Lao Tzu**

It was night. The rain had stopped.

I sat and methodically built my own bonfire on the beach, away from the marshal's tent. The medical shelter was more inland and elevated from where I sat. I heard the marshal moaning in anguish. The whole camp had all day.

People were on edge and glanced towards the medical tent every time he made noises. The sound echoed across the wreckage and camp around it. There was a lot of tension. Everyone knew Jack couldn't heal him. The cries of pain from the Marshal Edward Mars were sometimes unbearable.

I avoided people that day, picking fruit under the jungle canopy for everyone to keep myself busy and useful. Later, I sought shelter alone, far from the other survivors but close enough to still hear the marshal's anguish. It was never ending, yet I was drawn to it.

I didn't want any questions about the bruises on my neck. People weren't wandering around where I was. I kept my white shirt on when around them. I only stripped it off down to the orange t-shirt when I was alone and when it turned dark.

I also made a point to stay away from Jack. I don't know what to think after what happened inside and outside of the tent yesterday. I still felt tied to him, despite his anger and his getting in my face. It was more than the mugshot. It was more than our exchange of words and his brusque behavior. I just couldn't take any more of it without defending myself. I didn't like how it felt.

I liked Jack, found him attractive even. But it was like a stranger replaced the man I had been working alongside. He didn't believe that the marshal attacked me unprovoked, despite catching him in the act. Jack pushed me aside afterwards, not caring if I was injured or not, not looking or even asking after I vomited, trying to breathe. I was upset about the marshal being in pain and how long it was going to be dragged out, so I followed him to ask, putting my needs aside. My questions infuriated him. Did they really make him that mad or was he feeling inept?

I didn't outright him ask him to kill the marshal. He assumed that too. In my mind, I hoped there was a way to ease his pain, help him to sleep through the last of it, but that was a fairy tale or pipe dream here. We don't have those kinds of meds, ones that would ease the pain of the suffering, like in hospice. They don't kill people in hospice. They make them as comfortable as possible until they go.

* * *

Tommy's Grandma Daisy was in hospice care but it wasn't in one of those centers for it. They came to her at the nursing home. Before that, I remember she was really sweet. She lived on the farm with them for years before she had to go to a nursing home, her lack of memory and wandering off became a risk. Then she fell ill. She liked to sit on the rocker and watch the farm with kids running around.

She made the best cookies and always welcome our visits to the porch where she sat. She'd give us each a soft hug. I don't know if she realized I wasn't her grandchild. It may not have mattered to her. She was forgetful, but full of stories of the past, long before tractors and John Deere equipment was around, much less running toilets.

I was fascinated by her tales of the outhouse and how her aunts kept them pristine and white-washed. I wanted to see one, but they were all gone by then, the wood probably recycled or used for kindling.

Tommy explained that she dying. We were 10 by then. There was a thing called hospice where someone came every day to see her in addition to the regular staff at the nursing home. They talked to her doctor and ordered pain medicine to made her more comfortable. She had the cancer again at that point but was too old to treat I guess. Tommy said he didn't get to see her much but she seemed happy although she was sleeping a lot. It wasn't long until she passed.

His parents were sad to see her go. A lot of folks were. After the funeral, at Tommy's house, all of Ames seemed to show up. Even Diane brought a dish, but didn't stay long. It was normal to bring dishes to the bereaved after a funeral so they wouldn't have to cook for a while. The neighbors also brought condolences for the family and visited a while, filling the large farmhouse.

Tommy and I ate food, mainly cookies, and walked around. We heard people saying stuff like "It was her time to go," and "The hospice folks were real angels." We also heard over and over, "She went peacefully." I guessed that's about the best you could wish for with the cancer and pain, to die peacefully so the real angels could come to get you.

* * *

I had been thinking about that mugshot. My gut told me Marshal Edward didn't tell Jack about me. This is despite the fact that he is a braggart and likes the sound of his own voice. He's dismissive and rude with other people, rubbing them the wrong way on purpose. If Jack demanded answers, I doubt Edward would give him the satisfaction about his life's focus, which was me. He might withhold it to get a rise out of Jack. My gut said no. He didn't tell. I had dealt with Edward's games and antics too long to think he would give Jack satisfaction.

He's in the brink of death now in the middle of nowhere with no chance of survival. Maybe he finally has other things on his mind like that wife or two kids I heard in the background during the phone calls I made on Saint Days. Maybe he needs to make peace with himself, life or God. Hopefully he's doing something other than obsessing over me. If he is, it just shows what a sick son-of-a-bitch he really is. Nobody on the outside had any idea how deep his obsession was except for me. If they did, he should have been fired or reassigned years ago.

I ruminate. I don't hate Jack but there is a small part of me that stings inside. I'm reminded when my fingers brush the bruises on my neck. I don't blame Jack for his anger because everyone turned on me in the past. Usually it was based on information though, not a picture and assumptions. It's like he was taking out a heap of extra anger on me, like his inability to make Edward better and the camp being all tense because of it. That wasn't my fault. It wasn't his either.

Yeah, Ray had turned me in, but to Ray's credit, he didn't give me "the look" or act less kind than before. If I got hurt, even after he found out, he still would have shown compassion. He still treated me like a fond niece after he saw the flier in the post office.

I believed him when he said it was a hard decision, but I understood why he did it. It boiled down to money. If the reward was zero, I doubt he would have made the call. He was content with our arrangement and likely would have let me garden and do the chores for him as long as I wanted.

I already decided if Jack tells the camp anything about me being a fugitive, I'm leaving.

I will pack my bag, some provisions, something sharp to cut fruit, and get the hell out of there. I'll take my chances with the polar bears and that thing versus a mob based on the reaction to the marshal's cuffs.

There were worse things too. I didn't want to be cast out. I spent enough of my life being on the outside and excluded by my peers because of my family. Indifference had turned to hatred by the other girls by the time we were in high school.

* * *

I was a good student and had only one friend, a lanky boy named Tommy, so I flew under the radar until around the summer before my sophomore year. I shot up my last two inches and developed overnight into a petite, lean young woman, with small curves, one that drew a lot of attention from the boys who previously ignored or teased me.

My freckles became "cute." My thick curly hair went from being "bushy" to beautiful and "exotic." I didn't like the extra male attention and shied away from it. I knew what they wanted and wasn't going to give it to them.

The other girls didn't like the defection of the boys. They called me names like "slut" or worse things, ones that made me hide in the bathroom to hide my tears. I didn't do those kinds of things with boys or understand how they could be so cruel.

I was on the outside for something I couldn't control and felt misunderstood. Those feelings, being misunderstood and not accepted, followed me into adulthood, especially as Tommy drifted away, dated and went to college while I stayed, wasting 6 years trying to protect Diane, who despised me in spite of it. Her tipping off Wayne's brother, the police chief, set the ball rolling with my running. He or his family would tried to shoot and bury me before any trial if I stayed, "kin" or not. They were a pack of leacherous, mean drunks.

* * *

I sat alone with my little bonfire. I needed to light it. I still wanted to avoid Jack but keep vigil in the vicinity of the tent. I don't know why. I hate that Edward is moaning but I've known him for 3 years. It would suck dying with only strangers around, even though we were the opposite of friends.

My resentment and anger towards him was on hold, drowned out each painful moan and shout that came from the tent. I didn't need to witness his death. I can't say why I was here, but when he was dead, I doubted anyone would pursue me that obsessively again. That would be a relief.

I kneeled and pulled out a matchbook from my back pocket. It was empty. Dammit! I threw my head back, frustrated.

I heard a lighter flick on and turned to my left.

"Need a light?" It was Sawyer. He was grinning the way he does when he is going to start one of those sarcasm-laced conversations, manipulative and insincere. He was the second to last person I wanted to talk to.

I pursed my lips in irritation, held my tongue and nodded. He tossed it to me. I caught it and sparked the kindling. Sawyer circled me from behind slowly as I was bent over, looking at me. It bugged me. I was very aware that I still have that gun with one bullet in my waistband, not sure what else to do with it. I didn't want him to shoot Sayid during one of his tirades.

Sawyer decided to invite himself to hang out with me. He sat next to me, making himself comfortable in the sand with a cigarette pack in on hand.

I shot him a look. "I took your lighter. It wasn't an invitation."

He smiled, dimpling and looked at me. "Well, look who's getting all territorial . . ."

"Sawyer . . ." I warned him. I couldn't deal with the b.s. tonight.

"Fair enough." He said. He took his pack and tried to tap out a smoke.

"Don't even think about it." I snapped. I hate cigarette smoke. It reminds me of Wayne, the alcoholic, abusive step-father Diane married after chasing my Dad away. He was a chain smoker. The low-life beat her and even broke her bones in front of me. She enabled it all and denied any abuse took place under our roof.

I stared down Sawyer, challenging him. He shook his head and laughed, smiling at me appreciatively and put the cigarette away.

"Came by to thank you." He said.

I sat there quietly. What a dick. His voice had no sincerity.

"You gonna ask me what for?"

"What for?" I asked flatly, not caring.

"Taking that gun away from me." He answered.

"I didn't take it away from you." I said angrily. I handed it back, although it was useless by then. Boone snatched it from him and it ended up in my waistband by group consensus.

"It's sticking out of your denim's, ain't it?"

I looked at him, not sure where he was headed.

"Yup. Sure wouldn't want to be the one with the gun right now." Sawyer's voice had fake sympathy with irony and sarcasm woven throughout it about my "plight." "Cause everyone out there on that beach listenin' to that poor boy scream knows what's gotta be done . . . and the only one that can do it is the one with the gun."

I looked at him with surprise, as if I would ever consider doing that. I couldn't even shoot a squirrel on purpose. My aim was great, but my heart was never in it.

I only shot out of necessity and then in the leg or kneecap, like the during the bank robbery to save the nice bank manager from getting his head blown off by that idiot Jason. All I wanted was Tommy's DC-3 plane in the safe deposit box.

"Aww. Don't play like your surprised. You're not even trying to sell it. Heard you tell hero the same thing. . . Hell, there's only one bullet left. It'd be damn near poetic." Sawyer stood after that, brushing the sand off his jeans.

"Don't be too tough on yourself, Freckles. Some decisions are hard." He spoke seriously for a change. "Others ain't really decisions."

My eyes got big and I closed my eyes, remembering something, the truck crash in Australia. I did that. It wasn't a decision. It was desperation and my survival instincts kicking in, same as running off only to return hell-bent on saving Ray.

"What?" Sawyer asked, watching my face.

"Nothing." I said. I sure as hell wasn't going to share that with him. He strolled off in the dark, back to a blown-out jet engine piece he liked to lounge on. It was closer to the medical tent than the other wreckage on the beach. I bet my eye-teeth he wouldn't settle. He'd likely be lurking around.

I could hear voices carried by the breeze from the infirmary tent, even though it was many yards away and I was closer to the water. I tucked myself in closer to the fire for warmth, and strained to listen. Jack and the Marshall were talking and the few words I caught, it was about me.

I heard "Pretty, isn't she?" It was the marshal. I cringed and wondered if he was talking about the mugshot. Maybe I should move further down the beach now that his moans had stopped. Jack was talking with him. I heard them exchange words but most were garbled and drowned by waves and breeze. I suspected they were talking about me, but the marshals' responses seemed tense. Most were curt. I guess he and Jack weren't getting along. No surprise to me though, nobody got along with Marshal Ed.

I wanted to retreat into the dark. Instead of moving, I sat unblinking in the sand. The marshal moaned again. I pulled on my white shirt, feeling chilled.

I heard footsteps approach me from the tent but didn't look over. Jack spoke to me finally. He said the marshal wants to see me alone. I didn't look at him, despite his towering over me. I stood slowly, ignored his proferred hand, brushed off my pants and pulled down my shirt.

Jack was close in proximity, close enough to feel his body heat. I could feel his eyes on me. I refused to make eye contact. I needed to gather my wits and couldn't deal with Jack and the unresolved actions, inactions, and feelings from yesterday. My feelings went deeper than I was used to or liked at the moment about this man next to me. That had to wait.

* * *

I went to the tent, not sure what Marshal Edward wanted from me. Did he want to mock me as part of his last wish? He took so much pleasure from it in life, like I was his personal entertainment. It didn't matter. He summoned me. I answered it for the first time, not willing to say no to a dying man.

My feet dragged as I made my way there, listening to his sounds of suffering.

I entered the tent and closed the flap. I looked defiantly at the marshal. He made my life hell for years. I kept my distance. I felt exposed in front of him, even though he was the one without the shirt. I crossed my arms and kept my distance against the tarp wall.

He was on his death bed. He had no color, shadows under his eyes and was dripping with sweat and water Jack gave him. Every breath, move, or cough was painful for him and he couldn't hide it.

"So, what is it?" He asked me, then coughed, grimacing in pain.

"What?" I asked uncomfortably, shaking my head slightly.

"The favor." He said. He tried to smile but failed. Speaking was a chore for him.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said quietly, still shaking my head. I tried to keep my voice down. I didn't need an audience with Jack down wind of us.

"Last thing I heard you say, before the crash. You wanted a favor." He coughed again. I waited, thinking. Then I remembered.

"Oh, that." I said quietly. I stared at him wondering why now?

"Well?" The marshal asked.

I shrugged gave a small, embarrassed smile, speaking quickly. I tried not to make eye contact, expecting him to make fun of me. It would sound stupid now, considering his situation. "I wanted to make Ray Mullen got his twenty-three grand."

"What?" The marshal started laughing hard, despite the pain. "The farmer who ratted you out?" He laughed harder. I kneeled next to him. The laughing made it harder for him to breathe. He struggled in obvious pain and coughed.

I gave a look that said I was serious about what I said and leaned back on my heels. "He had a helluva mortgage."

The marshal laughed a little again. He started at me, not breaking eye contact. A few tears came out, either from pain or maybe amusement, but his voice had real sentiment behind it. "Katie. . .You really are one of one of a kind." He said while watching me. I looked away, breaking eye contact. I didn't want to hear that from him. It had an undercurrent of affection. I bothered me.

He tried to catch his breath again but was in a lot of pain. It was terrible to watch. I looked back at him as he struggled to speak. "You know you would've gotten away if you hadn't gone back for him."

"In case you haven't noticed, I did get away." I responded with a small smile.

"Yeah?" The marshal gave me a once-over and smiled. "Don't look free to me." He said slowly. I took it in, thinking, closing my eyes for a second. He was right, this wasn't freedom. It wiped my face clean of feelings for a few seconds.

He winced and gritted his teeth in pain. "It hurts, Kate." He looked at me in desperation. I could tell and read it in his eyes. It wasn't right, enemy or not. Jack had found nothing to give him to ease it, not even Vicodin or something from all those bags I supposed. "I'm gonna die, right?"

I didn't break eye contact with him and wasn't going to lie. I was unhappy to deliver the news. "Yeah." I nodded and spoke gently.

He nodded, accepting my answer. He looked at me intensely for several moments. "So. . .are you gonna do it?"

I looked at him in surprise feeling a little horrified. Even if it was an invitation, I knew what my answer was. I sat for several moments and said nothing, looking at him.

* * *

I said "Bye" to Edward. There was nothing else to say. That was it.

I walked slowly out of the tent using the opposite side I had entered to avoid my bonfire and Jack. I was leaving behind 3 wretched years of my life and felt the weight of it all.

I had already walked several yards down the beach towards the wreckage to join the others. Then I heard a voice yelling my name. It was Jack and he was panting.

"Kate!" I turned and looked back at him without turning, with no expression. He looked relieved to see me.

A loud "BANG!" came from the tent, startling him.

I looked down, sadly and turned away, continuing my quiet dirge made by sifting the sand with my dragging feet. I was headed to bed.

I heard him yell "Wait!" at me. I didn't stop.

I had said my last word for the night.

* * *

I made my way slowly to the wreckage but could still hear the sound carry over to where I was. Everybody nearby heard them, perhaps the whole camp, but nobody stirred. Jack was arguing with Sawyer.

"What'd you do?" Jack yelled!

"What you couldn't." Sawyer said. "Look, I get where you come from, being a doctor and all, but people shouldn't have to listen to a man cry like a dog for three days! And him? He wanted it too! He asked me for it! I don't like it any more than you do but something had to be done."

A moan came from the tent. "What the hell's that?" Sawyer yelled. Then more moans, louder and in pain. They both went in there with the marshal.

I could hear Jack yelling at Sawyer. "You shot him in the chest?!"

"I was aimin' for his heart." Sawyer said.

"You missed!" Jack angrily responded. "You perforated his lung. It will take hours to bleed out."

"There was . . . I only had one bullet." Sawyer said.

"Get out! GET OUT!" Jack screamed at him.

Jack was alone in the tent with Edward. The moaning turned to a gargling noise, like he was drowning.

Then the sounds quickly changed. I recognized it immediately.

It was groaning, then the same sounds I was making when the marshal was trying to crush my windpipe.

I heard them for only a few moments, then dead silence.

Several moments went by. I saw Jack's shape emerge from the tent and pass Sawyer as he stalked off into dark.

* * *

It was dawn. I was already awake. I didn't sleep much the night before, despite the silence. I felt empty. People were still sleeping. The few that were up spoke in whispers.

I didn't hear anyone speak about the marshal. The tension among the remaining survivors seem to have departed with the darkness of night.

Jack was sitting down the beach from everyone. He had walked in the direction of the cove where I had stitched him up. He watched the ocean waves roll in and the tide take the water out. I knew he had been there most of the night, thinking.

I caught sight of him. I had made a decision to talk to him. I walked over at sat close to him. We both looked forward watched the sunrise, the soft, multi-hued oranges and yellows coloring the waves in front of us.

"I want to tell you what I did," Jack looked at my face, then away at the waves ". . . why he was after me." I said. I was looking over left shoulder and up to see Jack's face.

He shook his head. He had a distant look to his face. He looked at me again. "I don't want to know."

I was taken aback. He looked me in the eyes, but I could tell his mind was partially elsewhere. "Sorry?" I asked, not sure if I understood him correctly.

"It doesn't matter Kate." Jack said. His voice was full of the thoughts and feelings he had been dwelling among all night.

He still had a far off look in his face that told me he wasn't just talking about me when he spoke his next words. "Who we were . . . what we did before this, before the crash, it really . . ." He paused. "Three days ago, we all died. We should be able to start over."

I looked at him with newfound respect. Whether it was about me, him, or everybody here, it was a profound statement.

"Okay." I said with a little smile, my eyes welled up. I wanted to start over. I had wanted to start over since we got here, since I stitched him, we cried together and he told me his story. That was soon after the crash.

He was looking me now, really seeing me again, staring deeply into my eyes.

He nodded slightly. "Okay." I could tell he had cried earlier from the dried tears on his cheeks.

Whatever passed between us in those moments was real.

We sat in comfortable silence closely, side by side. Periodically, he would look at me and I'd return the look or I would look at him and he'd do the same. No words were needed.

I knew what happened yesterday, and what he did to the marshal, despite his claim the day prior during the rain about what he wasn't capable of. I wasn't going to mention it to him, ever. I understood why he did it.

Eventually, I had to stand. I sighed and put my small hand on his broad shoulder. I was going to say something but decided not to. I moved to walk away.

"How'd Sawyer get the gun?" Jack asked me. I paused and considered his question but said nothing. I just gave him a sad smile instead.

I turned and walked away.

Maybe the "starting over" part wasn't going to be so easy after all.


End file.
